Little Bit of Mambo
by Disasteriffic Kaz
Summary: Zombies in the south. Sounds like fun until the bodies start dropping…and rising back up. Post 8x13 "Everybody Hates Hitler" the usual hurt/comfort/awesome!boys
1. Chapter 1

Title: Little Bit of Mambo

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Zombies in the south. Sounds like fun until the bodies start dropping…and rising back up. Post 8x13 "Everybody Hates Hitler" the usual hurt/comfort/awesome!boys

Author's Note: This particular plot bunny's been hiding in my notes for a while so we'll see where it takes us. Unlike normally, I don't have the whole story in my head already so this could get interesting. :P

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!  
_**~Reviews are Love~**_

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She tried to blink her eyes but they refused to open. They felt as though they were stuck together. She couldn't remember how she'd gotten there. She couldn't remember anything…not even her name. Panic welled up inside her, and she felt her mouth fall open just a little. Oh, God, was she in an accident? Was she paralyzed? She couldn't feel any part of her body save her head, and terror whited out her thoughts for a moment. Smell brought her back from the brink and she wrinkled her nose; it was pungent and heavy, thick, and it made her hurt. But it was worse than that…there was something under that that smelled of rotting meat left too long in the sun. She opened her mouth again and this time the breath of a sound emerged.

"Help…me." Her voice was weak and barely more than a whisper, but she tried again. "Help." She wished she could remember her name, but every thought and memory seemed to scatter the moment she tried to catch hold of it. She tried to open her eyes again and finally blinked slowly, her eyes coming open a millimeter at a time. It was dimly lit, and she could hear a voice chanting softly somewhere behind her. "Help? Help me?" She blinked, and suddenly there were eyes in front of her. They were wide and black in the dimly flickering light. She felt hands curve gently to cradle her head, and the eyes drew closer until they were all she could see. "Help?"

"There is no help for you, child." It was a woman's voice, soft, low, and it made something skitter fearfully through her mind.

She felt the hands squeeze and then she was lifted, but…it felt wrong. Her head was tilted, her eyes flowed down from the frightening face and she suddenly knew why she couldn't move. She had no body. She was only a head. Terror erupted in her mind and she screamed as the dark woman laughed and the world suddenly went black.

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Sam tossed a shovelful of dirt up out of the grave and stopped to wipe his sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. He looked up at his brother and rolled his eyes. "Anytime you wanna trade."

Dean smirked and shook his head. "Nope. You lost that bet fair and square, Sammy." He hefted the rock-salt loaded shotgun and shrugged. "Never make a bet with me when grave-digging's on the line."

Sam snorted, chuckled and bent back to dig. "You cheated. I know you did. I don't know, how but you did."

Dean grinned and turned his eyes back out into the cemetery. "I don't need to cheat. I'm just that good." He checked the EMF meter in his hand, happy to see it was silent. The body they were digging up…that Sam was digging up, and he chuckled at that…belonged to a very angry ghost with a habit of tossing people off a local rooftop. He looked down as Sam's shovel banged hollowly.

"Got it!" Sam called and hastily began clearing the lid of the coffin. This was usually the part where the ghost realized someone was disturbing his grave and showed up to cause trouble. As if on cue, the EMF in Dean's hand started to whine.

"Get a move on, Sam!" Dean shoved the meter in his pocket and took a firmer grip on the shotgun.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh, crap." Dean groaned and spun as the voice shouted behind him and watched as a police officer appeared from around one of the mausoleums. He squinted when the man's flashlight blinded him and saw the officer draw his weapon. "Stay down, Sam." He said softly.

"Hold it right there! Drop the weapon!" The officer called and aimed at Dean's chest.

"It's not what you think." Dean started and grudgingly lowered the barrel of his shotgun but didn't drop it. He couldn't. The ghost was coming and they'd all be dead if he put it down. "Officer, you really need to go away now." The meter in Dean's pocket grew louder and he sighed. This was about to go real bad, real fast.

"I said drop it!" The officer took a step closer and kept his light in Dean's face. "I will shoot!"

"Dude, you don't understa…" Dean broke off as the ghost suddenly appeared between them. He watched the spectral form turn on the officer and lunge for him. "Shit!" Dean raised his shotgun as the cop cried out in surprise and fear. He jerked with a grunt when the officer's gun fired and pain burned through his right arm.

"Dean?" Sam gave up hiding. He jumped out of the grave in time to watch his brother spin and hit the ground. He looked over and watched the ghost ride the now screaming officer to the ground. "Shit!" Sam scrambled up out of the grave, took up his shotgun that he'd left on the edge and unloaded both barrels into the spirit. It dissipated with a scream. A brief glance at Dean rolling onto his back and grasping his arm allowed Sam to draw a breath again, and he stalked over to the cop and glared down at him. "You hurt?"

"What? No. What the fuck was that?" The officer shouted and felt around for his gun only to have it kicked away by the much taller, angry man standing over him.

"You aim that thing at my brother again…" Sam let the threat trail off and ran back to his brother. "Dean?" He knelt beside him as Dean rolled to sit up and Sam's eyes widened in fear at the sight of the blood dripping down the sleeve of his jacket. "How bad is it?"

Dean snarled and pulled his right arm around for a look. "It's not bad. You wanna get that damn coffin open before Casper comes back for another round?"

"What about…" Sam waved an arm toward the officer who was only now climbing unsteadily to his feet.

"I got this. Go on." Dean let Sam pull him to his feet and gave him a shove to the open grave.

"Here." Sam handed him his shotgun and hopped back down. "Try not to get shot again."

"Shuddup." Dean went over to the cop and waited for the man to meet his eyes. "Didn't I tell you to leave?"

"But…digging up a g-grave and…" The officer scrubbed a hand over his face and looked up at Dean. "What did I just see?"

"Casper the pissed-off ghost. Go home. Have a drink or ten. Forget about it." Dean gave him a shove away. "Really. Go."

"Got it, Dean!" Sam called and climbed back out of the grave.

"You're, uh...you're bleeding." The officer finally seemed to see the blood on Dean's right arm and blanched. "I did that."

"Yeah. Lucky for me you're a shit shot." Dean rolled his eyes and groaned when the meter in his pocket whined again. "He's coming back, Sam!"

"On it!" Sam poured salt down into the grave and over the now exposed bones then dropped the can and squirted lighter fluid liberally.

Dean tossed him his lighter. "Hurry up."

"Dean!" Sam shouted and ducked when the ghost reappeared. A moment later, the shotgun sounded and rock salt flew over his head, banishing the spirit again. "Thanks." He spun the wheel on the Zippo and tossed it down into the open grave. Flames shot up, lighting the night.

Dean shook out his arm, grimacing at the burn in his bicep and lowered his shotgun finally. "We're gonna go now. You should probably not tell anyone what happened." He grinned at the cop. "They won't believe you." He shook his head as the cop just nodded mutely and turned back to his brother.

Sam shoved everything back in the duffel, scooped Dean's shotgun from the grass, and nodded. "Let's go before he decides we need to be arrested for saving his ass." He couldn't help the anger he felt. An officer should have better aim and control, as far as he was concerned, and the cop had shot his brother in a moment of panic. It chilled him to know that if Dean had turned the other way or the cop's arm had flinched, Dean would be lying dead on the ground now.

They jogged away and left the cop standing dumbfounded. Dean held his arm and scowled at his brother when he asked for the keys. "I can drive."

"You're bleeding. I'm driving." Sam raised a brow and held out his hand as they reached the Impala. "Gimme."

"You know, I expect to get tossed around on a salt and burn." Dean pulled out the keys and gave them to Sam with a last glare. "Getting shot by a cop is not in the deal, dammit."

Sam went to the trunk and put away the bag before climbing behind the wheel. He got them away from the cemetery as fast as he dared, worried the officer would eventually decide to try and find them. "We'll get your arm patched up and then leave town."

Dean sighed when they reached the motel and got out, anxious to see just how bad the cop had tagged him and hoping Sam would contain his mother-hen instinct. He pulled off his jacket and his flannel while Sam brought the first-aid kit over to the table and sat. "Dammit." He'd been hoping it was a graze, instead he had two holes.

"Through and through. Could have been worse." Sam nodded and grabbed the bottle of alcohol and a rag. "At least I don't have to dig a bullet out of you."

"Gimme that. Pack up the room." Dean took the stuff from him and set about cleaning the wounds himself.

Sam smirked and nodded. "Fine." Wounded Dean usually meant pissy Dean, so he left him to it and started packing up their things and taking them out to the car. He was tossing Dean's bag into the trunk when his phone rang and he flipped it open when he saw the display. "Hey, Garth."

"Sam! How are my two favorite idjits?" Garth's cheerful voice made Sam roll his eyes.

"Garth..." Sam groaned a soft laugh. "What do you need?"

"Got a job if you two are up for it." Garth shuffled some papers and smiled. "Sounds like a zombie thing. I'll email you the research if you want it."

Sam looked back into the open room and Dean winding a bandage around his arm. He sighed. "Sure. We're good. Where are we going?"

"Baton Rouge, well, near to it. You two…good?" Garth asked and waited to have his head bitten off for prying, but, dammit, he cared and the memory of having to step in between Sam and the loaded gun Dean had been pointing at his chest, finger twitching on the trigger, while under the influence of a cursed coin not so long ago was still fresh in his mind. Even without the curse, it was obvious that there had been tension between the two brothers, so it was good to hear Sam sounding so relaxed.

"Yeah, Garth. We're good. Honest." Sam laughed and shook his head. "Send me the information. We're getting on the road now anyway. Thanks, Garth." He flipped his phone closed and went back in the room. "Garth just called. He's got a job for us down south."

Dean tucked the end of the bandage in and raised a brow. "What kind of job?"

"He thinks it's a zombie thing." Sam told him and smiled when he groaned. "Know how much you love those."

"Well, it does give me an excuse to set things on fire, so it's not all bad." Dean chuckled and packed up the first aid kit. He gave the room a quick once-over to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything and nodded. "Let's boogie."

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Sam glanced over at his brother asleep in the passenger seat and smiled. He'd had to argue to stay behind the wheel, but, serious or not, Dean still had a bullet hole in his arm and he didn't need to be behind the wheel with blood loss. He'd finally won the argument with Dean logic, pointing out that he wouldn't want to risk crashing his baby because he was too stubborn to take a break. Sam chuckled. He reached a hand over and laid it carefully along the side of Dean's neck, frowning when he felt his slightly over-warm skin.

"Stop feelin' me up." Dean growled.

Sam jerked his hand back. "Uh…just checking. Thought you were sleeping."

Dean snorted and pushed up in the seat. "Not likely." He shifted his right arm with a grimace. "Friggin' hurts."

"Should have taken the pain killers, dumbass." Sam smirked. He'd lost that argument.

"Shuddup." Dean checked his watch and stretched. "Dude, we need food." His stomach grumbled and he grinned, pointing at it. "See?"

Sam laughed and saw a sign for a rest stop ahead. It was close to dawn and he was starting to feel it. "Grab a motel?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm drivin' after we eat." He glared at Sam. "Don't gimme that crap about the car again either. Not fallin' for it this time."

Sam chuckled and nodded. "Fine." He pulled off the highway and into the first diner he spotted, figuring Dean could use the greasy food to make him feel better, whatever he said about how he was feeling. He saw the free Wifi sticker in the window and smiled, parked, and grabbed his laptop from the back before following Dean inside.

Dean smiled happily at the long grill behind the counter with burgers cooking away in greasy little puddles, fries bubbling in oil and a gorgeous waitress who flashed two dimples under blue eyes and blonde hair as she smiled at him. "Hello, darlin'." Dean drawled and swore he could actually hear his brother's eyes take a roll behind him. It made him grin.

"You boys are sure out late. Pick a seat." She smiled up at him warmly, suddenly not minding the graveyard shift anymore with two tall drinks of handsome in front of her. "I'm Mandy. What can I getcha?"

"Oh, so many things." Dean smiled as he sat. "But we'll settle for coffee right now."

"Comin' up." Mandy swayed off behind the counter whistling a happy tune.

"Five in the morning and you've already got the waitress drooling," Sam chuckled and opened his laptop. "You are a hopeless dog."

"A little flirting never hurt anybody, Sam." Dean said with a grin that faltered as his brother looked up at him and raised a brow meaningfully. "That wasn't flirting. That was monkey-sex and how was I supposed to know she was a friggin' Amazon?"

Sam swallowed the laugh and raised his hands, dropping the subject and pulled up his email instead as the waitress came back and dropped off their coffees. "Thanks." Sam smiled up at her and had to admit she was very pretty.

"Boys know what you wanna eat?" Mandy smiled and held up her order pad with the pen poised.

"I'll take the biggest, greasiest burger on the menu and fries." Dean grinned and patted his stomach.

Sam snorted. "Make sure you put bacon on it." He opened his mouth to say he didn't want anything, saw the knowing look on Dean's face and rolled his eyes. "Uh…you have pancakes?"

"You got it, sugar." Mandy jotted down their orders and gave a happy, heated glance to Dean before she left again.

"Yowza." Dean watched her butt appreciatively and then shook himself. "So, what's Garth have to say?"

Sam shook his head and looked back to his screen. "Whoa. He really did the legwork on this one. We've got police reports, autopsy files. Yikes. These bodies have been…chopped up."

"Chopped?" Dean looked over to the grill and swallowed, determined to enjoy his burger no matter what.

"Yeah, and not all the pieces have been found." Sam scrolled through the files and his brows rose. "Ok; I think he's right on the zombie call." He read Garth's notes and nodded. "This isn't gonna be pretty. He thinks it's a Bokor Mambo."

Dean's brows shot up. "Huh. Dad tangled with one of those guys once."

"Girls." Sam corrected.

"What?"

"A mambo is a priestess of Bokor so…girl." Sam shrugged.

"Whatever. We were kids, but, man, I remember the look on his face when he got back." Dean shook himself. "Did not give him happy dreams."

Sam nodded. "Not surprised. They raise and control zombies and, from what little I've read, they're…messy about it."

"Define 'messy'," Dean asked, not really sure he wanted the answer.

Sam leaned back and closed the laptop. "They stitch together more powerful zombies from…pieces…of people they kill."

"Ok. Eww." Dean groaned.

"Yeah; and it gets worse." Sam scowled and shook his head. "A mambo will trap the souls of the victims inside the rotting zombie sometimes."

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it when Mandy came back with a tray and set their food down. He looked at his burger, oozing grease off the side of the bun and swallowed hard. "Thanks, Mandy." He looked up and gave her a wide smile before she walked away.

Sam chuckled and started pouring syrup over his pancakes. "Bet you wish you hadn't ordered that now, huh?"

"Shuddup." Dean took a breath and picked up his burger, noting the several pieces of bacon sticking out the sides and smiled. "No amount of ick can ruin this for me." He took a bite and moaned appreciatively. "Oh, yeah, baby."

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Dean drove into late morning with Sam curled against the passenger door sleeping and picked the first motel he found when they reached Kilton Forge, the town outside Baton Rouge where the zombies were apparently running wild. He slipped out of the car, got a room, and got back behind the wheel without Sam ever stirring. He shook his head and pulled around the back of the motel. It had two floors, and he got them a room upstairs on the end.

"Rise and shine, Rumplebitch." Dean gave his shoulder a shake and smirked when Sam jerked awake on a gasp, pushing upright in the seat. "We're here."

"What?" Sam looked around and rubbed a hand over his face. "Right. Ok."

Dean snorted and got out. He was exhausted, really, and knew he was running a slight fever from the damn gunshot. "Move your ass. Some of us drove all night."

"Did that to yourself." Sam pointed out but went to the trunk and grabbed the bags, waving Dean off. He wasn't interested in sleep anymore. He'd been taking a sleeping tour through Hell memories when Dean had woken him and he wasn't interested in going back to it. The Devil wasn't riding shotgun with him anymore, but the memories were still there. He wasn't sure he could even explain to Dean, if he asked, what had changed since Cas. He still had close to two hundred years of the Cage in his head, but Cas had…softened the edges somehow, given him a sort of anchor. He could feel it in the back of his mind sometimes, and, though Cas had put it there, it had Dean's voice. "Stone number one." Sam murmured, and then shook his head at himself as he closed the trunk and hefted the bags.

Dean trudged up the stairs wearily and opened the door, flicked on the light, and went first to the air conditioner under the window. He smiled happily when it hummed to life and started blowing cold air. It was close enough to summer that far south that the temperature had already hit the low nineties. He stripped off his flannel, wincing as the motion jarred his wounded arm and rolled into the bed near the door with a groan. "Finally."

Sam found him that way when he came in and smirked, closing the door. "Don't go to sleep yet. I want to check that wound."

"S'fine," Dean said and rolled away from Sam, ready to be asleep.

Sam ignored him and dropped the bags on the other bed, pulling out the first-aid kit and a fresh roll of bandage. He went around and sat behind his brother and picked out the end of the wrap. "Stop whining," Sam told him when Dean tried to yank his arm away. "You're still hot."

Dean snorted. "I'm always hot."

"You know what I mean." Sam rolled his eyes and lifted his brother's arm. He heard the slight intake of breath that said he was in pain. "Sorry." He was as careful as he could be, seeing as Dean was actually letting him tend to him without much of an argument and chuckled softly when he realized Dean had fallen asleep. "Makes my job easier," he said softly. He carefully cleaned both wounds and re-wrapped his arm before laying it back. He stood, careful not to jostle bed and then went about making the room safe.

The routine gave him something to focus on other than the nightmare that still lingered at the edges of his mind. He knew if he went back to sleep now, it would simply come for him again. Sam shivered and turned his mind to scrawling protective symbols in marker around the door. He finished and went to the window, easing between the heavy drapes and the glass so the light didn't hit his brother and added more symbols on the sill. Sam absently wondered just how many motel rooms they had protectively defaced over the years.

Sam finished, doubled-checked his symbols and the salt lines and then just stood, unsure what to do with himself the rest of the day. He sighed and picked up his bag, taking it into the bathroom. He came back out dressed in his suit and wrote a hasty note for Dean, leaving it on the table between the beds. Dean would no doubt kick his ass for taking off on his own, but they needed to make a pass at the local police and see if anything new had come in since Garth did his research. He eased out of the room, snicking the door closed silently and locking it.

"Yup," Sam said to himself as he jogged down the stairs, "So getting my ass kicked later."

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_To Be Continued… _


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Little Bit of Mambo

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Zombies in the south. Sounds like fun until the bodies start dropping…and rising back up. Post 8x13 "Everybody Hates Hitler" the usual hurt/comfort/awesome!boys

Author's Note: Hmm, the boys decided to be all introspective and crap in this chapter. Not my fault. Talk to them. LOL

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!  
_**~Reviews are Love~**_

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_Sam finished, doubled checked his symbols and the salt lines and then just stood, unsure what to do with himself the rest of the day. He sighed and picked up his bag, taking it into the bathroom. He came back out dressed in his suit and wrote a hasty note for Dean, leaving on the table between the beds. Dean would no doubt kick his ass for taking off on his own but they needed to make a pass at the local police and see if anything new had come in since Garth did his research. He eased out of the room, snicking the door closed silently and locking it._

"_Yup." Sam said to himself as he jogged down the stairs. "So getting my ass kicked later."_

**Chapter 2**

Dean groaned and rolled over in the darkened room. "Dude. Coffee?" He raised his head and frowned, seeing no sign of his brother. "Sam?" He pushed up, taking a moment to let his spinning head adjust and wrapped his left hand around his shoulder and the pounding pain there. "Crap. Sam!" He really didn't like that he was alone in the room. He got up and staggered to the bathroom. He flicked on the light and turned back to the room. "Alright, what the hell?" Dean went to the door and turned the overhead light on, getting his first look at the motel room.

"Whoa." He snorted softly. The room was a lime green explosion, walls and carpet both glaring while the beds were covered in some sort of crap-brown blankets. The ceiling was striped white and lime green. "Yeck." His eyes landed on a piece of paper on the table between the beds and he went to it. Dean read it quickly and snarled, looking at his watch. Sam had left over three hours ago for the police station. "Stupid, stubborn, son of a…" He went to Sam's bed and took his jacket from his bag, tossing it on and shoved a gun down the back of his belt. "I am gonna kick your ass when I find you."

Dean yanked the door open, absently noting the salt lines and runes Sam had put in place before leaving him. "Jackass." He growled and jogged down the stairs. It wasn't that he thought Sam couldn't handle himself but waking up and finding him just…gone; that wasn't acceptable, note or no note. The day's heat had yet to break, and, if not for the gun, he'd have left the jacket off. He reached the bottom and snarled again even more loudly because the Impala, of course, was gone. "Son of a bitch!" He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed his brother. It rang and went to voicemail, making him curse. "Sam! Where the hell are you and where's my car? What the hell were you thinking going off on your own in friggin' zombie-central? Call me back, dammit!" Dean stood there, looking around the parking lot as if waiting for Sam to appear and jumped when his phone rang. "Sam! What the hell, man?"

"Dean."

Dean stopped. Sam's voice only sounded that…tight and empty when he was hurt. "Sam? What's goin' on? Where are you?"

"On my way back." Sam worked to sound normal. "Back in…uh…five."

Dean had an army of things he wanted to ask as worry started to overlay the anger, but he swallowed them all back. If Sam was hurt, he didn't need to be driving and trying to come up with an explanation. "Hurry up," he said instead and closed his phone. Dean stayed where he was and waited. He was reduced to looking at his watch every thirty seconds by the time he heard the rumble of the Impala's engine and then saw her come around the corner of the building and pull up beside him.

Sam looked up and saw the dark look on Dean's face. He sighed and opened the door, eased out and stood and closed it. "It's not what you think."

"Holy crap!" Dean exclaimed on seeing the state of him. Sam was covered in blood from his face to his knees and there were rents in his shirt and the leg of his suit pants. "What the hell happened to you?" He was on him before he'd finished speaking, searching for wounds beneath the disturbing amount of blood.

Sam batted his hands away. "Dude…Dean! Can we do this inside?" He went to run a hand over his face and grimaced, remembering he still had blood on them. "Please." He started for the stairs and sighed thankfully as Dean simply went up beside him.

Dean was relieved at least to see the blood seemed to only be on his front. His back was free of it as Sam hunched up the stairs. "How bad are you hurt?" The unspoken question under the question was, of course, do we need to go to a hospital? But Sam shook his head.

"It's nothing. I swear." Sam opened the door to their room and went in. He looked longingly at his bed, but lying down wasn't going to happen until he got the blood off. He shrugged stiffly out of his jacket and glanced around in surprise when Dean tugged his pistol from the back of his suit.

Dean popped the clip and looked up at him, wide-eyed. "You wanna tell me how you go to the police station and end up emptying your clip?" He waved a hand at his brother while Sam unbuttoned his white shirt and peeled it off. "Not to mention the whole bathed in blood thing." He hissed in a breath when he saw the four gouges running across Sam's chest below his tattoo.

"Not as bad as it looks." Sam dropped into the chair at the table and only then actually saw the room with the lights on. "Whoa. That is…that is really green."

"Don't change the subject." Dean set his gun on the table and leaned down, picking at a hole in the leg of Sam's slacks and finding matching gouges on his thigh. "What did this?"

"Zombie." Sam said simply and stood again. It took more energy to stand, and he wished he hadn't sat. "Super-powered zombie in the damn morgue that didn't want to go down. The, uh…they're gonna need a new coroner."

"Shit," Dean said in surprise as Sam went for the bathroom and turned on the sink.

"It's definitely a Bokor mambo." Sam went back out and to his bed. He dug his jeans out and a t-shirt.

"Here." Dean tossed the first-aid kit to him. The gouges were nasty but nothing serious from what he could see, he noted with relief. The amount of blood soaking Sam's clothes had been frightening. Apparently some of it was not his own, thank God. "You got anything worse than that and remember how pissed I get when you hide shit from me before you answer."

Sam snorted softly and waved the kit at him. "Bumps. Bruises. Nothing serious, I swear."

Dean let him close the bathroom door and snarled softly. A routine trip to the damn cop shop wasn't supposed to result in major injuries. He prowled the room until Sam came back out and tossed his ruined suit pants in a pile with his blood-stained shirt.

"Most of that belongs to the coroner." Sam said and shook his head, rubbing a now clean hand down his face. "It…the zombie tore him apart, Dean." He dropped into the chair again and spread a hand over his chest as the newly cleaned wounds pulled. "He saved my life." He saw it again and closed his eyes with the memory.

"_Strangest thing about these bodies." The coroner leaned over one and drew the sheet back. "Some of them seem to have parts of other bodies…stitched onto them somehow."_

_Sam leaned in for a closer look and frowned. "No actual stitches?" He could see the variations in skin color on the arm that said there was more than one donor but nothing holding them together._

"_No. Not that I've found." The coroner gestured to the neck. "This one's head was lost somewhere. They're still looking. Maybe once we know who he used to be, we'll know how this happened."_

_Sam picked up the hand, drawing the arm up and shivered at the odd sensation that passed through him as it moved, almost as though some part of the thing were still cognizant and watching him. "Has anyone come forward to claim the bodies? A woman maybe?"_

"_A woman?" The coroner looked at him with a curious expression. "That's an odd question to ask." He studied Sam for a moment. "Unless, of course, you happen to believe in Voodoo."_

_Sam jerked in surprise and tried to school his face. "Don't know what you mean?"_

_The coroner chuckled and shook his head. "Don't worry about me, son. I practice, but for the good guys." He raised a hand and smirked. "Scout's honor."_

"_Somehow I doubt you were ever a scout." Sam said with a smile and relaxed somewhat. "So, do you know the mambo behind this?"_

"_No; and no one's going to talk to you, either," the coroner sighed sadly. "There are two, maybe three, women around here with the power to do something like this…maybe…but people are scared of them. More scared than they're going to be of you…agent."_

_Sam chuckled but didn't admit he wasn't the federal agent he claimed to be. He looked back down at the body and then back up as the coroner gasped. He saw the man looking over his shoulder behind him and a cold chill settled over him. Sam reached for the gun at his back and tried to turn but it was on him too quickly. A haphazardly assembled arm closed around his throat and pulled his head back._

"_No! This place is protected!" The coroner shouted, horrified as he watched Sam's head being drawn back painfully and the zombie's decaying face descending toward his neck to tear it out. He lurched into motion and threw himself at them. He slammed into the __"__agent__"__ and all three toppled back into the gurney the zombie had risen from._

_Sam gasped as the arm left his throat and rolled clear, drawing his gun as the coroner's first cry rang out in the room. Flesh sloughed from the zombie's chest as it pulled the coroner up by his arms. "Hey!" Sam shouted and fired into the thing's head. It jerked back but didn't relinquish its grip on the man, and Sam's jaw dropped as the unfortunate coroner's arms were torn from their sockets in a spray of blood that would have made Tarantino proud. "NO!" Sam fired again and emptied his clip into the zombie, trying to slow it down to no avail. It swung an arm out and nails gouged across Sam's chest. He rolled to the floor on a short cry and scrambled back as it reached for his leg, opening long gashes in his thigh._

Sam pulled himself back to the present even as he heard the terrified gasp of the coroner again and felt that decaying arm close around his neck. He shook himself. "He threw himself at the zombie to get it off me."

Dean took a deep breath, trying not to picture it in his head and failing. He could see the shadow of bruises under Sam's chin now. "I take it you won the fight."

Sam nodded. "Yeah. Lured it down the hall to the furnace where they get rid of the biohazard material. I had to sneak out." He smiled wearily. "Figured it wouldn't be a good idea for the local cops to find me with their dismembered coroner. I don't think anyone saw me heading down there."

Dean pulled a bottle of water out of the little refrigerator and handed it to him. "You find out anything before the zombie?"

Sam nodded. "A little. The coroner was a Voodoo practitioner. Good guy."

"Clearly." Dean said with a nod for the little brother who was still around to hunch in his chair and look beat up.

"He said there are a couple women in the community who could be the mambo. They don't exactly advertise and pretty much anyone who knows them is too terrified to talk about it." Sam shrugged and grimaced, hand hovering over his chest again. "We're probably going to have to find her through her victims…what's left of them." He looked down sadly. "I never even got his name." Sam said softly and hated himself a little for that.

"Right. Well, for now, I'm callin' downtime." Dean pulled him up out of the chair and shoved him toward the far bed. "You look like crap and we need supplies. Keys."

Sam narrowed his eyes but held Dean's keys out to him. "Don't hunt her without me, Dean. I mean it."

"Oh, you mean, don't be you? Sneak off in the middle of the day while I'm sleepin' and leave me a damn note?" Dean's anger finally won out and he glared at his little brother as he dropped to the bed.

"In my defense, I thought it was safe." Sam shrugged and grimaced again, regretting the movement. "Dammit."

"Yeah, that worked out well." Dean shook his head and pulled the bags off his brother's bed, letting them thump to the floor. "Just picking up supplies. Unlike you, I'm not gonna get in any zombie mayhem while I'm doing it, and I'll be back in twenty."

Sam nodded, trusting him and flopped back on his bed. He groaned softly as the door shut and the pain in his chest and thigh burned away. "I hate zombies."

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Dean had been true to his word and was back in twenty minutes, despite the urge to purposefully screw off for a couple hours and make Sam twitch. He just couldn't do it to him, not after knowing what he'd gone through with the coroner. He glanced over at his little brother from where he sat at the table with the laptop and sighed. Sam was asleep, curled around his no doubt aching chest and a line furrowed between his eyes. He wasn't sleeping peacefully.

"Dammit." Dean said softly. He knew Sam thought he didn't hear him at night in the bunker when he woke up gasping. Dean rolled his eyes. Like ten feet of hall was going to negate having spent his whole life taking care of the kid. Dean was attuned to him like no other human being and he knew. Sam's head wasn't screwing with him to the point of death, of course, not anymore…not since Cas…but that didn't mean all those memories had just gone away. He'd hoped, of course, right after the angel had 'fixed' him. Dean had fervently hoped that all that Hell had just gone away. He shook his head at himself for the naivety of that hope.

He turned his attention back to the laptop and waited. Sooner or later, Sam would gasp himself awake and Dean would be there to take his mind off it. Dean inwardly kicked himself for all the time he'd spent punishing his brother after his return from Purgatory, all the times he'd thrown Benny at him like an accusation. He grimaced, remembering how he'd faked that emergency call from Amelia. That was not his finest moment, and hurting Sam like that…Jesus, did he have his head screwed on wrong or what?

Dean looked up as Sam started shifting on the bed, hands twitching like they wanted to be holding a weapon and back arching over like he was trying to protect himself from something Dean didn't even want to imagine.

Dean got up and went over to the bed as the first, so- soft whimper escaped his little brother and shook his shoulder. "Sammy. You gonna sleep all night?" He watched Sam jerk awake as he had in the car and rear back, then groan and hunch over his chest again. "Stop whining. We got work to do, princess." Dean grinned at Sam's dirty look and went back to the table satisfied he'd successfully averted whatever nightmare had been trying to get its hooks in his little brother.

Sam sat up, rubbing a hand over his chest and threw his legs off the bed. "What time is it?"

"Sammy do the research time." Dean returned with a lopsided grin and turned the laptop around toward him. "Got us a few possible locations for where the mamba chick is picking up victims."

"Mambo, moron." Sam rolled his eyes with a chuckled and came over, sat and grabbed the computer. "A mamba is a kind of snake."

"And that's different how?" Dean went to the fridge and pulled out two beers, passing one over to him.

Sam snorted a laugh and looked at Dean's research. "This is worth looking at. One of these is the home of one of the victims, well…the parts of him they found. His right hand, I think." Sam tapped the screen and opened his beer. "He only went missing a few days ago. There might still be something in his house." He took a long drink and sat back. "Bokor mambos like to frighten their victims before they zombie-fy them."

Dean chuckled. "Technical term, huh? Ok. So maybe she left something in the house. Hex bag?"

Sam nodded. "Something to point to her. I found a couple divining spells in the bunker's library that might help."

"Do you even sleep when we're home?" Dean laughed.

Sam smiled and shrugged. "There's a lot to read." It warmed him to hear Dean refer to the place as home. It was a concept he'd never really had; that Dean hadn't had since he was four. Sam smiled and looked away as he amended the thought - other than the Impala which had always been home and, he supposed, always would be. "How's your arm?"

"Better than you." Dean waved at his chest. "Because I'm just that awesome, you can have the first shower while I get coffee." He stood and slapped a hand up the back of Sam's head as he went past. "Don't use all the hot water, dammit!"

Sam chuckled and waited until Dean left to get stiffly back to his feet. He brought the duffel with him into the bathroom and hoped the water would help ease the burning from the gouges the zombie had left in his chest and thigh. He took pity on his brother and kept it short, coming out ten minutes later in time to see Dean coming back in with two coffees and a bag. He wished he'd pulled his shirt on before coming out as Dean's eyes went to the wounds on his chest. "It's fine, Dean."

"Whatever. Sit." Dean pointed imperiously to a chair and grinned when Sam rolled his eyes and dropped beside the laptop again. He set the bag on the table and handed Sam one of the coffees. "It's vanilla…somethin' girly. You'll like it."

"Shut up." Sam smirked and resigned himself to Dean poking at him.

Dean knelt and checked the gouges in his brother's chest carefully. They were an angry red and just look like they hurt. "Anything hinky going on with these or they just feel good?"

Sam snorted. "Feels wonderful, but, no, nothing weird."

"We're not taking anything for granted with a mamba queen stirrin' crap up." Dean gave another look at the wounds and nodded. He stood and grabbed the bag. "Burgers." He grinned and handed a wrapped sandwich to his brother. "Figure we'll eat and head out. Check out the zombie-dudes house."

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Dean looked up at the darkened house and raised a brow. "Guy did pretty good for himself. You know…before the whole chopped up for zombie parts thing."

Sam laughed and nodded as they ducked under a span of police tape and headed to the back of the house. "He was a day trader. Stocks and stuff." They were fortunate it was a moonless night and the houses in this neighborhood were set far apart. It left little chance they'd be spotted breaking in. He went to a door in the side of the house and easily picked the lock, holding the door open while Dean went in first with his gun drawn.

"Smells funny in here," Dean said softly as he eased into the dark house and turned on his flashlight. He wrinkled his nose at the foul odor and it set his nerves tingling.

"I'll check upstairs." Sam went past him with his gun ahead of him. Odds were they wouldn't be running into anyone or anything in the empty house, but, like Dean, he wasn't taking the chance.

"Watch your back," Dean admonished as his brother went up the stairs to his left. He headed across the hall and found the kitchen. It looked as though the guy had been interrupted in the middle of preparing a meal. There was a pound of ground beef left sitting on the counter, an onion half chopped on a small board, and a pan knocked askew on the stove. He shone his light around the room and moved through to the dining room. The problem was they weren't even sure what they were looking for. A Voodoo priestess wasn't a witch, so hex bags weren't on the menu. He scowled thinking it was probably going to be something disgusting and macabre if Sam was right and she'd been tormenting the guy before she killed him.

"If I were a nasty, Voodoo equivalent of a hex bag, where would I hide?" Dean muttered and poked along the china on the wall. Finding nothing, he went to the living room and searched along the books on the shelves. "Gotta be something."

"Oh, there is."

Dean spun at the sound of the woman's voice behind him and brought his gun up. He grunted as something invisible closed around his throat and his right hand went numb, the gun falling to the floor with a clatter. "Who…" He growled it out around the pressure in his neck and looked at her. She was wearing a black robe. A hood covered her head and a veil hid her face from him. He wanted to warn his brother but he couldn't do more than whisper past the constriction. He hoped Sam would hear something and not be caught the way he was as she drew closer to him and a soft chuckle came from behind the veil.

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_To Be Continued… _


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Little Bit of Mambo

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Zombies in the south. Sounds like fun until the bodies start dropping…and rising back up. Post 8x13 "Everybody Hates Hitler" the usual hurt/comfort/awesome!boys

Author's Note: Hope you're all enjoying this one and the slow build. :D

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!  
_~Reviews are Love~_

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_Chapter 3_

Dean glared death at her, trying to move and finding he was rooted in place. "Nice…trick." He gasped around the pressure in his throat. It was letting him breathe but seemed to be holding his voice hostage, preventing him from warning his brother who was still searching the upstairs unaware of the danger.

"I know your kind." Her voice was soft and made something unpleasant skitter along Dean's skin. "Hunter." She said like an epithet. "Chasing a mambo and you don't even bother to protect yourselves. Another of my tricks, Hunter. I can call blood from any. open. wound." She extended a hand to him, her finger almost brushing his cheek, and Dean hissed in pain, grabbing his right arm as pain suddenly sang from the bullet wounds.

"Bitch!" Dean gasped through the band around his throat and felt blood begin to run down his arm under his sleeve.

Her head tilted beneath the hood. "Oh, my. Is that…the beginning of an ulcer I feel?" She tightened her fingers into a fist.

Dean dropped to a knee with a low moan of agony as his stomach clenched and cramped. He coughed and spat blood onto the floor while he glared back up at her.

She chuckled as he suffered and then stilled as if listening. Her head tilted back and she raised her hand away from him and up toward the ceiling.

"N…no," Dean gasped, and fear choked him as he heard the unmistakable sound of Sam's knees slapping into the floor above them, hard. His right arm wouldn't obey him with pain pulsing from the wounds along with his blood. A strangled cry from upstairs pushed him to reach behind him with his left hand and draw his knife. "Hey…bitch!" Dean lunged and stabbed the knife forward, grinning around the blood in his mouth as he buried it in her stomach.

She screamed with rage. The sound drove into Dean's head and he closed his eyes reflexively. When he opened them again, she was gone. "What…shit." He shook his head as the pain in his stomach finally receded and sucked in a deep breath; the constriction in his throat had vanished with her presence. "Sammy." Dean spit more blood onto the floor and staggered to his feet, grabbing his gun as he rose.

Dean thumped into the frame of the arch into the living room and led with his gun into the hall. He saw no sign of the mambo and went for the stairs. He jogged up as quickly as he could, his own injury forgotten in his fear. "Sam?" He turned at the top, choosing the room over the living room. He felt his breath catch in his throat at the scene that greeted him as he got to the door. He crossed the room in three long strides and slid to his knees beside his brother's body. Sam lay motionless face down on the floor, and he could see the edges of a pool of blood beneath him. "No. Come on, Sammy." Dean grabbed him with his left arm and rolled him over, trying not to panic at the sight of Sam's chest soaked in his own blood. The leg of his jeans, where Dean knew the other wounds to be, was also saturated.

"Sammy, you answer me." Dean said it fiercely and lifted him, sliding a knee behind him to prop him up. "Sam!" He grinned, hearing a soft moan from his brother and heaved a breath in relief. "That's it, buddy. Wake up." He fumbled with nerveless fingers to tug Sam's shirts up. "Sorry." Dean muttered when he rubbed the fabric over the wounds and Sam jerked in response.

"Dean?" Sam's eyes shot open and he slapped a hand up into his arm, taking tight hold while his head swam.

"Gah! Easy." Dean slammed his eyes closed as Sam's hand clamped around his right bicep.

"Sorry. Sorry." Sam let go and groaned. "What…what happened?" The last thing he remembered was walking into the bedroom, and then the wounds on his chest and leg had suddenly throbbed. The pain had taken him to his knees while blood had started to flow from them like it was on tap. He didn't remember passing out.

"She was here." Dean told him and let himself relax slightly; finally clearing enough blood from Sam's chest to see that the bleeding had virtually stopped without the mambo's influence. "We need to do better research, dude. She cleaned the damn floor with us and she didn't even have to try that hard."

"Wha'…what stopped her?" Sam tried to sit up on his own and gasped as his head seemed to swim. He ended up sitting, hunched over his brother's arm and trying not to throw up.

"Stabbed her in the gut." Dean looked around the room and shook his head. "We're not gonna find whatever she used. She beat us to it. Come on. We gotta get outta here." Getting Sam on his feet proved harder than he'd thought, and they only made it to the hall before blood loss took its toll and Sam was on his knees retching onto the carpet.

"Ok, take it easy." Dean kept him from toppling forward and dropped a hand on the back of his brother's neck when Sam tapered off to coughing and gasping. "Ready to try again?"

Sam nodded and wobbled back to his feet. "Hate…blood loss." He groaned while Dean pulled his arm back across his shoulders, hiding his own wince of pain as his shoulder protested the abuse, and got them to the stairs. Sam's head wouldn't stop spinning, his stomach churning, and he had to make a conscious effort to keep his feet moving. "Pro'lly didn' kill her."

"Huh?" Dean asked, half-dragging Sam toward the side door once they made it to the bottom of the stairs. The slurring was starting to worry him with the amount of blood Sam had left on the floor upstairs, and his skin was cold and white.

"Stab wound." Sam shook his head, trying to clear it. "Too powerful. Prob'ly jus' pissed…pissed her off."

"Well, she pissed me off first." Dean growled and pushed open the side door, steadying Sam out beside him into the warm night air. "Tell me there's a way to keep the zombie queen from goin' Sith master on us again."

Sam snorted and nodded. "Yeah. I'll f-find it. Gotta be."

"Keep walking. That's it," Dean had to coach him when Sam simply stopped moving and squeezed his eyes closed. "Just get to the car. You can do that."

Sam nodded and started walking again, but he didn't have much left. He was heading toward unconsciousness. He could feel it, but he was determined to not make his brother carry him up to their room, or worse, dump him in an emergency room. "M'good. Jus' need…fluids. Juice?"

Dean snorted. "Yeah, juice will totally fix this." He rolled his eyes and leaned him up against the side of the Impala while he got the door open.

Sam folded down into the seat with an exhausted groan and dropped his head back while Dean pushed the door shut. He swallowed hard when Dean got behind the wheel and the car moved, making his stomach roll. "I mention…not a zombie fan?"

Dean smiled grimly and nodded. "Yeah, I'm gettin' there." He looked over at his brother's face and frowned. "No puking in the car, dude."

Sam waved a hand wearily and let it thump back to the seat. "I'm good." He focused on the sound of the engine rumbling under him as they drove and startled when it stopped, jerking his head up. "We here?"

"Yeah. Hang on." Dean was out and around the car before Sam even had the door open all the way. "Ok. Here we go." He took his arm and pulled him out, then kept Sam from crumpling dizzily to the ground.

"Can do it." Sam muttered and made himself straighten up, pulling the door shut behind him. He looked up the stairs and groaned.

Dean chuckled. "If I gotta carry you up, you're detailing my car for a month, sasquatch."

"Shuddup." Sam smirked and started up the stairs, grateful for Dean at his side to keep him moving and upright. He was panting by the time they reached the top, and as soon as Dean opened the room door, he bolted into the bathroom, stumbled to his knees beside the toilet, and threw up again, not that there was much of anything left in his stomach to throw up. He felt Dean's hand land on the back of his neck and leaned back into the comfort of it for a moment when the heaving eased. For as long as he could remember, that touch was always there to soothe him whenever he had been sick, except when distance, death, or anger and distrust had forced them apart. The fact that he had that comfort back again now made Sam's heart clench for a moment in gratitude that he had not lost it forever.

"Done?" Dean asked and got a short nod in response. "You get cleaned up on your own?" He meant it. If Sam needed him to prop him up in the shower to get the blood off, he would. He'd grouse about it and tease his little brother for days, but he'd do it if he had to so he smiled when Sam laughed weakly and shook his head.

"I can do it." To prove it, Sam got himself up and sitting on the side of the tub. He looked down at his shirt and jeans, both soaked with his blood and grimaced. "Gonna run out of clothes at this rate."

Dean chuckled and stood. "I'll toss your bag in. Clean up so I can."

Sam took a look at him and finally saw the blood that had soaked through the sleeve of his shirt. "Crap! You alright?" He stood too fast and swayed.

"Geez, dude. I'm fine." Dean shook his head and took Sam's shoulder until he steadied. I didn't lose anywhere near as much blood as you. Much smaller holes. Go. Shower." He left Sam leaned against the wall and pulled the bathroom door closed behind him. Dean took a moment to hunch over. His stomach ached still, but it was heartburn rather than the pain the mambo had caused him. He looked at the extra burger still sitting on the table and decided soup sounded damn good. He snorted and stripped off his jacket and shirts. He cleaned his arm quickly as the shower turned on and pulled on a fresh shirt and jacket before cracking the bathroom door open. "Goin' to grab you your juice, genius." Dean called over the shower with a smirk.

Sam rolled his eyes and flipped his brother off over top of the curtain then went back to just leaning heavily against the wall under the hot spray once he heard the door shut. He blinked down at the bottom of the tub and grimaced as bloody water swirled into the drain. Blood loss was one of his least favorite things to deal with, and the headache was winning out now over the nausea. He let the spray take care of the blood, not having the energy to do more and stumbled out of the tub. He smiled when he saw his bag on top of the sink. Dean must have snuck it in when he left. He took a look at the gouges on his chest and thigh, happy that the mambo's power hadn't actually made them worse and bandaged them before tossing on his sweats and a shirt. It was three in the morning at least, and he went back out in the room and fell onto his bed, rolling into the pillow with exhaustion riding him.

Dean found him that way when he came back and went over quickly, giving his shoulder a shake. "Sammy?" It worried him that his brother wasn't up and researching like he normally would be. "Man, you must be feeling worse than you look. Dude, wake up for a minute."

"Mmf." Sam groaned and obstinately didn't roll over. He just wanted to sleep.

"Nope." Dean grabbed an arm and rolled him over. "Up, dammit. You lost way too much blood, Sam. We don't do something about it now, you're gonna be useless later."

Sam grumbled, but let his brother pull him over and up. "Fine." Dean was right and he knew it as his head swam, his stomach rolled, and he shivered.

"Here." Dean rolled his eyes and handed him a bottle of orange juice. "Start on that. And you're eating something too. Don't argue."

Sam gave him a mutinous look and opened the bottle, taking a swallow. The juice hit his stomach, and suddenly he felt like he was dying of thirst.

Dean looked over in time to watch Sam greedily drink down half the bottle. "Hey! Dammit." He went back and pulled the bottle from his mouth. "You tryin' to make yourself throw up again? You know better."

Sam was breathing heavily and nodded. "Right. Sorry, just…"

"Yeah, I get it." Dean let the bottle go and waited, making sure Sam was going to drink more slowly and didn't step away again until he did. He understood; lose enough blood and your blood sugar could crash far enough to make you confused and forget even the most basic things.

Sam made himself drink the rest of the juice more slowly, grateful as it began to clear the fog in his head he hadn't even realized was there. He emptied it and set it on the table then sat up properly, even as the need to sleep started to overcome him again. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean came back and handed him a styrofoam container. "Soup. Drink."

Sam looked up in surprise and took it. He'd been expecting something greasy. He smiled. "Nice."

"Yeah. Yeah." Dean rolled his eyes and took his own soup before kicking off his boots and getting comfy on his own bed. The juice alone had Sam's face looking less pale than it had when he'd come in the room. Soup and sleep would get him the rest of the way, Dean figured, and settled back to finish his own that was thankfully settling the lingering burning in his stomach.

"I'll figure it out." Sam said after several minutes and set aside his nearly empty soup cup before flopping back onto his bed. "Some way to keep her off us next time…tomorrow. I'll find something."

"I know you will, geek. Go to sleep." Dean shook his head fondly and flipped the light off as Sam managed to pull his blanket over himself and grunted sleepily. He finished his own and set aside and then just slid down, blanket be damned; he was tired and it still a warm, lousy night.

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"You sure about this?" Dean looked over the little brown house they had parked in front of with a brow raised. The sidewalk was lined with flowers, cheerful green shutters hung over open windows, and a child's bike lay in the front yard. "There's a Voodoo priestess…here?"

Sam chuckled and shrugged. "She's a yoruba priestess according to the woman at the library. Good mojo, and someone we need to speak to." He started up the sidewalk in the summer sun and wished he didn't have to have a jacket to hide his gun. He glanced over and could see Dean was already sweating as well, enough to stick his short hair to his head.

"Friggin zombie queen couldn't have waited until winter to start ganking people?" Dean groused and wiped his sleeve over his forehead.

Sam smirked and went up onto the porch. He raised a hand to knock and stared as the door opened before he touched it. "Uh…hello." He said and knelt to be at eye level with the child who had opened it. Sam smiled. "We're here to speak with Mrs. Marley. Is she home?"

The little boy watched him with big, brown eyes and nodded. "Momma Ava said to come getcha. Come on."

Sam stood in surprise as the boy pushed the door open and looked over at Dean. "Remember. Be respectful." He'd discussed it with Dean in the car and pretty much begged his big brother not to antagonize the woman. Pissing off a Voodoo practitioner, good or bad, was just not a good idea.

"I can be respectful." Dean growled back and grabbed the door, stepping ahead of his brother into the house. "When I want to."

"That's what worries me." Sam muttered and followed him inside.

"She downstairs waitin' on ya." The boy pointed to an open door and went past into a friendly, yellow kitchen with no more interest in either of them.

"Huh. Down we go." Dean started down the stairs with Sam at his back and tried not to be nervous about walking into the cellar of a Voodoo priestess. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and stared. "Well, that's unexpected." The cellar was wide open and brightly lit with colorful silks hanging on the walls and comfortable chairs around a low table, one of which was occupied by an elderly black woman with white hair that hung artfully around her shoulders and face.

"Come in, boys. Sit. Sit." She waved a hand to the chairs and smiled warmly at them. She waved at the table and a tray with a pitcher and glasses. "Lemonade. You pour." She looked up at Dean and raised a brow. "You are the oldest." She smiled up at Sam. "You call me Momma Ava. Don't no one call me 'mrs.' Sit, child." She told Sam imperiously, her tone of voice reminding him more than a little of the psychic they had worked with in Lawrence, Missouri Mosley, despite the lilting Creole accent.

"Yes, ma'am." Sam smiled, amused, and sat in a chair beside her. "I'm Sam. This is Dean. I get the impression you were expecting us."

Momma Ava chuckled. "Jenny call me from the library. Say two pretty things askin' 'bout Voodoo, and she send 'em my way."

Dean snorted, amused at the librarian's description of them and sat. "Well, we…" He stopped when the woman raised a hand and imperiously pointed to the lemonade. "Uh…right." He rolled his eyes and picked up the pitcher, pouring it out into the glasses.

Sam smirked. "We need protection." His smile fell away and he met her eyes. "There's a Bokor mambo in your town, Momma Ava. She's killing people."

"Oh, I know, child." She nodded and she reached a hand to him, holding it in front of his chest. "I can feel it on you. Somethin' undead left its mark." She took the lemonade Dean handed to her and flicked her fingers at him. "Oh, don't look at me like that. I not hurtin' him."

Dean smoothed the glare from his face as she took her other hand away from his brother's chest and smiled instead. "Like you said, I'm older." He met her gaze steadily and saw the twitch of her lips that said his unspoken message was understood - don't screw with my brother.

"What'choo boys dealin' with here is Sekt Rouge." Momma Ava leaned back and sipped her lemonade with a sigh. "Most Voodoo be about order. Control. Bokor be nothin' but chaos; Sekt Rouge. This mambo, she hurt you."

Dean nodded. "She said she 'called our blood'." He watched Sam put a hand over his chest with the memory. "We need to make sure she can't do that again."

Momma Ava's face darkened. "You boys be lucky you still here. That's old Voodoo, very old, an' most Bokor can't handle it. Too powerful." She shook her head. "You see her?"

"She had her face covered." Dean set his lemonade down untouched, leery of drinking anything from a Voodoo practitioner, supposedly good or not. "Don't suppose you know who it might be?"

Momma Ava shrugged and sipped her drink. "Quite a few mambos in these parts, it bein' the south and all. I can't help you find her." She set her glass down and stood. "I can maybe fix up somethin' keep her from usin' her power on you."

Sam stood and towered over her mere five feet. "We'd appreciate it. Thank you."

"Boy, sit down before I break my neck tryin' to see ya." Momma Ava chuckled and stepped past him to a wall. She took hold of a handle and pushed and a panel some six feet wide slid easily and silently to the side to reveal a hidden room. "Now, don't be gettin' all excited. You not gonna find none o' that Bokor nonsense here."

Dean had risen with wide eyes and eased back down to the seat when Sam motioned at him to sit. "Sure looks like it to me."

Momma Ava chuckled and waved a hand at him. "That's 'cause you don' know what you're lookin' at, boy." The room had walls covered in red silks with various symbols carved from wood hung around it. A wide table sat at the back under the same red silk with bowls and boxes of all shapes and sizes lined along it.

Sam turned to he could watch her taking various things and muttering under her breath. He looked back at his brother. "There's nothing dark in there I can see." Sam said softly. "The stuff on the walls? Those are symbols of protection against Bokor. They hide her presence."

"Huh." Dean watched her as she worked. "My spidey senses are tinglin', dude. She knows more than she's telling us."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Probably. She may be willing to help protect us. That doesn't mean she trusts us." He shrugged. "It's in her best interests for us to find the mambo and get rid of her."

"So she's using us."

"Dude, we're using her." Sam retorted with a laugh. "You can hardly blame her." He smiled. "I kind of like her."

"Old don't mean deaf, boys." Momma Ava said suddenly and turned to smile at them over her shoulder. "You got the right of it, Sam. Havin' a mambo killin' folk ain't no good for any of us. She need to be stopped, and I figure you boys be the best shot o' that."

Dean had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry."

"Don't be." She came back into the sitting room with an understanding smile. "You boys be Hunters. Trustin' folk like me, well, could get you in a world o' hurt any other day. Today, though…" She held out her hands to each of them. "…today it be a good thing. These charms will keep the mambo's power away from you."

Sam took the small bag from her hand. It was black silk, about the size of his palm and on a thong. "We wear them?"

She nodded and reached into the neck of her shirt. She pulled a similar bag and showed them before putting it back. "It be the same I use. You be safe." She raised a finger. "Won' keep her zombies from tearin' pieces off you, but her powers not be touchin' you again, long as you wear them."

Dean took his and, at Sam's nod, slipped the thong over his head and tucked it inside his shirt. "Thanks, Momma Ava." He smiled and actually meant it. Sam was right. There was something likeable about her. He stood and Sam followed. Before they got to the door, however, Dean paused and turned back with a quizzical look on his face. "You know about Hunters." It was more of a statement than a question, but his curiosity was clear.

The old woman chuckled a bit. "Oh, certainly. Done up quite a few protection charms and spells for Hunters over the years. You all be doin' good for the world. Happy to help when I can." She glanced between the two brothers. "Gotta say, though, Jenny was right – none o' them other Hunters anywhere near as fine-lookin' as you two boys, though." Sam actually blushed, stammering out something or other before trailing off, and Dean just smirked as they turned to go.

She followed them to the door as they were leaving. "Now, you come back in a couple days, there be pie for ya." Momma Ava grinned at the surprise on Dean's face and the snort of laughter from his brother. "Sunday's bakin' day. You wanna come back. Trust me." She shooed them toward the stairs. "An' you be needin' any other help, you let me know."

"Thank you." Sam bent impulsively and dropped a light kiss on her cheek.

Momma Ava waved a hand at him. "Get ye outta here, boy." She laughed and gave him a gentle push in the back while he chuckled.

Outside, Dean elbowed his brother in the ribs. "Dude. She's old enough to be your grandma."

"Shut up!" Sam laughed and shook his head. "We want her to like us, Dean. She's powerful. I was showing respect. There's a reason she wants everyone to call her Momma Ava."

"Whatever, man. You can do the sucking up." Dean chuckled and got back in the car. "Although…pie."

Sam chuckled and pulled his door shut. "You are such a pie slut."

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Dean stood with Sam down the street from a small army of police cars and other official vehicles. They had planned on checking the home of another victim only to find the local police had gotten there first. "This can't be good."

Sam nodded. "Something happened or why would they all be here three days after the guy died? Zombie?"

"Maybe." Dean bit his lip and considered. "You should go ask. They already know you."

Sam nodded and went back to the car, fishing his FBI badge from the glove box. "What are you gonna do while I'm making nice with the locals again?"

Dean smirked. "Sneak in the back of the house, of course." He pulled his jacket straight and grinned at his brother. "They all seem to be outside. You keep them busy and maybe I can find something before the zombie queen shows up."

"Don't get caught." Sam shook his head and started down the street.

"Hey, you're not the only one with a badge." Dean rolled his eyes and ducked into the yard of the house beside them. He'd just go in the back while no one was looking.

Sam straightened his shoulders as he neared the police lines and flipped out his badge before ducking under the tape and past the officer standing there. He saw the sergeant he'd spoken to the day before and made for him. "Sergeant Baker." Sam called loud enough to draw the attention of everyone near the house and hopefully give Dean the break he needed to slip in the back. "What's happened? I heard something on the scanner."

"Damndest thing." The sergeant shook his head. "Looks like someone broke back into the victim's house and left, well, pieces of him. Ex-wife found it a few hours ago when she came to clean the place up." He gestured to the back of a nearby ambulance and a woman on a gurney with an oxygen mask over her face. "She didn't take it well."

"Pieces of him?" Sam asked and raised a brow.

"Yeah, uh, right arm and left foot, according to the coroner. You just missed him." The sergeant waved generally down the road. "Agent, what the hell's goin' on in my town?"

Sam shook his head sadly. "Sergeant, I wish I knew. Did anyone see anything?" He kept up the conversation and drew as many of the officers and techs in as he could, asking question after question and keeping all eyes on him as long as he could. Finally, he'd run out of legitimate things to ask as two officers made their way up to the house and he hoped Dean had gotten the hell out already. Sam went quickly back down the street and sighed with relief when Dean came out from behind a hedge to join him. "Find anything?"

Dean grinned and tossed a look over his shoulder, making sure no one was paying attention. They weren't. "Got this." He held up small bag tied with twine. "Found it in the kitchen. Looks like a gris-gris bag to me."

Sam nodded and took it, holding it up for a better look and then glanced over. "Why are you still grinning?"

"Found this too." Dean pulled a small gun from his inside pocket and held it almost reverently. "Dude. It's a Walter PPK." He caressed a hand along the barrel in a way that made Sam roll his eyes.

"Dean. It's a gun." Sam shook his head. "You want some alone time?"

"Sammy, this is not just a gun. This is James friggin' Bond's gun."

Sam couldn't stop the snort of laughter as they reached the car. "You thinking of trading the Impala in for an Astin Martin?"

Dean looked over, horrified and tucked the gun back in his pocket. "Shut your mouth! Bond may have great taste in firearms and women, Sammy, but his taste in cars sucks. That little Italian piece of trash." He looked fondly at the Impala.

"It's just a car." Sam groaned, as he always did, more for Dean's reaction than anything else.

"It's a slut. Those things have no sense of moral fortitude. Not like my baby." Dean went around to the driver's side of the sleek black Impala and caressed a hand across the hood. "Don't listen to him, baby. He doesn't mean it."

Sam gave in and laughed. "Dude, you have issues." He grinned but gave the car a fond look as he folded himself into the passenger seat. It had been the only thing he'd had to hold on to while Dean was in Purgatory; his only piece of his brother and home, and he wouldn't trade her in for anything any more than Dean would.

Dean chuckled, enjoying the old argument, even though he knew exactly how Sam really felt, and pulled away from the crime scene, heading down the street and back to their hotel without ever seeing the dark cloaked figure in the trees; watching.

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_To Be Continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Little Bit of Mambo

**Author:** Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Zombies in the south. Sounds like fun until the bodies start dropping…and rising back up. Post 8x13 "Everybody Hates Hitler" the usual hurt/comfort/awesome!boys

**Author's Note**: Picking up the action kids. Get the popcorn. :P

**Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D**– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

_****Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!  
**__**~Reviews are Love~**_

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**_

_"Found this too." Dean pulled a small gun from his inside pocket and held it almost reverently. "Dude. It's a Walter PPK." He caressed a hand along the barrel in a way that made Sam roll his eyes._

_"Dean. It's a gun." Sam shook his head. "You want some alone time?"_

_"Sammy, this is not just a gun. This is James friggin' Bond's gun."_

_Sam couldn't stop the snort of laughter as they reached the car. "You thinking of trading the Impala in for an Astin Martin?"_

_Dean looked over, horrified and tucked the gun back in his pocket. "Shut your mouth! Bond may have great taste in firearms and women, Sammy, but his taste in cars sucks. That little Italian piece of trash." He looked fondly at the Impala._

_"It's just a car." Sam groaned, as he always did, more for Dean's reaction than anything else._

_"It's a slut. Those things have no sense of moral fortitude. Not like my baby." Dean went around to the driver's side of the sleek black Impala and caressed a hand across the hood. "Don't listen to him, baby. He doesn't mean it."_

_Sam gave in and laughed. "Dude, you have issues." He grinned but gave the car a fond look as he folded himself into the passenger seat. It had been the only thing he'd had to hold on to while Dean was in Purgatory; his only piece of his brother and home, and he wouldn't trade her in for anything any more than Dean would._

_Dean chuckled, enjoying the old argument, even though he knew exactly how Sam really felt, and pulled away from the crime scene, heading down the street and back to their hotel without ever seeing the dark cloaked figure in the trees; watching._

**Chapter 4**

Sam pushed the Impala's door closed and jogged up the stairs to their motel room. It had taken him a few stops to find everything they needed for the locating spell, and Dean had called him twice to make sure he hadn't fallen afoul of another zombie. He chuckled and opened the door to their room and then rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Dean. Maybe you two should get your own room."

"Shut up! I'm just cleaning it." Dean smirked and went back to cleaning the Walter PPK with a happy smile. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not givin' up my Desert Eagle, but this little beauty's goin' in the trunk."

Sam set his bag on the table beside the gun cleaning kit and looked at him for a moment, then started to chuckle. "Dude. You were totally in the bathroom doing James Bond in the mirror weren't you?"

Dean glared up at him even as his face reddened. "No, I was not."

Sam's chuckled turned into a laugh. "You even sang the music!"

"I did not!" Dean whipped the cleaning cloth at his head with a snarl and went back to the gun…because he had done exactly that while Sam was gone but there was no way he was ever admitting to it.

"Uh huh." Sam wiped a hand over his face to stop laughing and grabbed his laptop.

"You find everything?" Dean asked absently, running a finger along the grip of the gun with a small smile.

"Think so." Sam sat on his bed and opened the computer. "Just need to find the right incantation and that gris-gris bag should lead us right to her." He lost himself in the research for a while, he wasn't sure how long, but when he looked up again, he found Dean as he'd left him, still sitting at the table with the Walter in his hands. "Dean?"

"Hmm?" Dean looked up absently. "What?"

"Dude, how long's it take to clean a gun that small?" Sam frowned when his brother shrugged and went back to staring at the gun. He set the laptop aside as warning bells went off in his head. For what, he wasn't sure, but... "Hey, uh…where exactly did you find that?"

"In the house." Dean was rubbing a thumb over the safety, transfixed by the weapon.

"Where in the house? On a shelf? Gun cabinet? In a box? What?" Sam went to the table and reached out for it. He watched in surprise when Dean jerked it away from him. "Dean."

"What's it matter? It's mine." Dean wasn't sure why he slid his finger inside the trigger but it felt right and a feeling of danger crept over him when his brother reached out for it again.

"Dean, let me have it for a minute." Sam asked, keeping his voice calm and knowing that something was very wrong, though he wasn't sure what. He just knew, with sudden surety, he needed to get the gun away from him. "Let me see it."

Dean's eyes narrowed as Sam's fingers brushed the barrel and a white-hot rage overtook him.

"Dean…" Sam gasped as his brother erupted up out of the chair at him. Shock held him motionless for one moment too long and Dean was on him. He grunted when Dean's elbow slammed into his throat and felt his leg swept and then he was crashing to the floor. "Gah…Dean! Stop!" He froze when the barrel of the Walter PPK pressed into his temple and he heard the hammer cock back. "Dean." He stared up at his brother and tried not to let fear choke him. "Dean. Talk to me."

Dean glared down at Sam and some part of him knew something was wrong, but he couldn't seem to make his thoughts come together enough to understand what. He saw the gun pressed so hard into his brother's temple there would be a bruise there later. He saw the hammer pulled back and his finger in the trigger, and still the only thing in his head was rage.

"Dean." Sam tried to stay calm and not make any sudden moves, not that there were many moves he could make that didn't involve his brains ending up splattered across the floor. He gasped and coughed when Dean's other hand crept from his shoulder to his neck and started to squeeze. "Dean…Dean, stop. What…whatever it is you can figh…fight it." He tipped his head back and tried to breathe past the constriction, grimacing as the gun pressed even harder into his head. "Dea…" Sam's voice choked off under his brother's hand and it was too much like the Spectre that had controlled Dean and nearly made him shoot him not that long ago. This time Sam was sure the gun was the cause, and he was also sure he couldn't get it out of his brother's hand before being shot just as he was sure that if Dean did actually pull that trigger and kill him, as soon as he snapped out of whatever this was that had a hold of him, his next action would be to turn the gun on himself.

Dean watched Sam struggling to breathe and a voice in the back of his mind was screaming. The rage only grew louder in response, however, and he shoved the barrel against his brother's head hard enough to actually break the skin and the first drop of blood trickled out from beneath it as Sam gasped his name. That sound, Sam in pain, scared…it was enough. A lifetime of instinctive response to that sound kicked in, and Dean threw himself off of him and scrambled back across the floor until his back thumped into the wall and he sat gasping and cradling the gun, staring at Sam in horror at what he had almost done, yet still fighting the anger that was trying to regain control.

Sam gagged and rolled to his side, trying to regain his breath and looked at his brother. As he watched, Dean inched the gun barrel up and toward his own temple. "No, no, no! Dean!" He jerked into motion and grabbed Dean's wrist with both hands as terror blew through him and the very real fear that he was about to watch his brother blow his own brains out. "Stop. Stop!" His voice was hoarse and ragged and he grunted, grappling with him for control of the weapon.

"Have to." Dean said. It was a whisper, and even as he said it, he knew it wasn't him. His finger squeezed on the trigger and he jumped as the gun went off just as Sam jerked his hand forward.

Sam's eyes went wide in horror as Dean's hand squeezed on the trigger, the gun fired, and blood bloomed across his forehead over his right eye. "Dean!" Sam ripped the gun free of his hand. He sucked in a breath as a ghost of what had been controlling his brother touched his mind. It was a powerful compulsion. It felt…oily, vile, and he threw the gun across the room as Dean went boneless. Sam caught him as he collapsed. "No. No." He pulled him over and tilted his head, heedlessly running his fingers into the blood on his forehead. Expecting a bullet hole, he sobbed a breath in relief when he found a graze instead.

"Ok. You're ok." Sam whispered it like a plea and held on to his brother, unwilling to relinquish his hold until Dean woke up and was himself. He looked over at the gun across the room and knew, somehow, the mambo had planted it. He stared at the thing and wondered if it even was a gun or something else. Dean stirred in his arms and he tipped his head back up gently. "Dean?"

Dean crawled his way back to consciousness with the knowledge that something terrible had happened…or almost happened. His head was a splitting agony and he groaned as he opened his eyes and found his brother's face inches away. "Sammy?"

"Just…take it easy." Sam smiled and felt dizzy with relief, even with the blood still flowing from his brother's head.

Dean frowned and raised a hand to his head, touching what could only be blood. He saw a bruise coming up on Sam's throat and a trickle of blood from his temple, and suddenly the memory slammed into him. He gasped and surged upright. "Shit!"

"Stop. Just…lie still, dammit." Sam kept him from surging to his feet, knowing the wound would only knock him back down.

Dean choked with self-loathing and outright terror as he looked at the blood on Sam's face. He'd almost killed him. He remembered the feel of his finger starting to pull the trigger, and then he was shoving Sam away and stumbling to the bathroom to retch into the bowl.

Sam followed and knelt beside Dean while he heaved. He wet a towel and pressed it to his forehead when blood started to drip into the bowl. "Just breathe, Dean. You're ok. We're ok." Sam reassured him and knew what he was feeling. Sam didn't think he would ever escape the memory of nearly beating his brother to death the day he had jumped into the pit. It didn't matter that Lucifer had been controlling him; it was still his fists that had done the damage, and to this day it turned his stomach, the feel of Dean's bones breaking under his hands. It was a nightmare that never left him for long.

Dean leaned back as the heaving eased and closed his eyes with a hard shudder. "Son of a bitch." He put a hand up and took the towel from Sam, pressing it to his head himself and let him pull him to his feet where he swayed for a moment.

"Come on." Sam pulled him out of the bathroom and steered him to his bed, pushing him down and then turned to look at the gun. He was wary of touching it. He went to the trash and pulled his bloodied shirt out, dropping it over top of the gun and used that to pick it up. "Do you remember where you found this?"

Dean nodded. "It was lying in the middle of his damn bed." He shook his head. "I couldn't…dude, I had to pick it up. I don't even…" He shook his head again as he remembered the sudden compulsion to take it that had come over him. "Kept telling myself to leave it, and then, once I picked it up, I couldn't even remember why."

Sam hefted the cloth-wrapped bundle in his hand and realized it didn't feel heavy enough. He frowned and carefully peeled the shirt back. "Holy crap." The gun was gone and in its place was a blood-soaked gris-gris bag.

"What the hell is that?" Dean asked as Sam held it out.

"It's the gun…or it was." Sam groaned and went to the table, setting it down carefully. "What do you want to bet this blood's yours from the first house we went to?" He went to Dean's duffel and pulled out the first-aid kit and took it over to him. "Bokor is heavy on blood magic."

"You're saying she knew we were coming." Dean growled and lowered his pounding head into his hands. "And I walked right into it."

"You had no way to know. I should have thought of this." Sam coughed to clear his aching throat and sat across from Dean. "I'm sorry. Let me see your head."

Dean raised his head slowly, refusing to sway when the room spun. "Not your fault, dude so stop apologizing. I can fix this."

"Shut up." Sam rolled his eyes and took the towel from him, wiping blood away and smiled. "It's not that bad. Won't even need stitches." He set the towel aside and went through the kit for the disinfectant and butterfly strips.

Dean picked the towel back up and wiped the blood off the side of his brother's face. "Quit it." He said when Sam tried to bat his hand away.

"Fine. Just…hold still." Sam snorted and cleaned the graze on Dean's forehead as gently as he could while his brother poked at the small wound in his temple. "Ow, dammit. Would you just let me take care of this first?"

"Oh, quit whining." Dean stared at the small wound and the unmistakable bruised impression of the Walter's barrel on Sam's temple. His hand shook a little while Sam closed the gash on his forehead and he dropped it to the bed. "Sam…I'm sorry." His eyes fell to the bruise on his brother's throat from his hand and he groaned while Sam pressed the wound together.

"Stop." Sam sat back and saw the almost haunted look on his brother's face. "You fought it, Dean. You didn't kill me. You beat her. You have nothing to be sorry about. Now would you please lay the hell down already? You're making me hurt just looking at you." He pushed on Dean's shoulder until he went over and his head hit the pillow with a grunt of pain.

"This bitch is goin' down." Dean growled and rolled away from the light, clutching his pillow to his head.

Sam nodded and picked up the kit and the towel, taking them into the bathroom. He shut the door and then just leaned on the sink, suddenly shaking in reaction as the adrenaline rush subsided. It was too close. A quarter of an inch less and he'd have been burying his brother…again. A second longer for Dean to have regained control, and the police would be cleaning up a murder/suicide in the morning. He hung his head and tried to breathe through the lingering terror of that moment of hearing the gunshot and seeing the blood on Dean's head. He shook himself and got control of the fear. He cleaned his own wound, small though it was, and went back out into the room, steadier than he had been, and the sight of Dean alive and softly snoring finished the job of easing the fear. He took his laptop off the bed and went to the table. He had a mambo to find and he set to it with single-minded determination. She'd nearly taken his brother from him and he wanted to make her pay for it.

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Dean rolled over, put a hand to his aching head and groaned. "Time's it?" He asked as he looked up and saw his brother sitting at the table.

"Huh? Oh." Sam checked his watch. "About eight." He bent back over the runes he'd been inscribing in the table's surface. "Almost ready to try the locator spell." The gris-gris bag Dean had found sat in the center of the table while the other, the one that had nearly killed him, Sam had burned outside while Dean slept, unwilling to take the chance the mambo could track the blood back to them. "How's your head?"

Dean sat up and pressed gingerly around the graze. "Feels like a mariachi band's playin'. Other than that, great." He stood and went to the table, frowning down at it. "What are those? Norse?"

Sam shook his head and smirked. "No. It's Ogham. Ancient Celtic."

"Tracking a Voodoo witch with Ogre runes. Nice." Dean dropped into a chair and sighed. "Why is there no coffee?"

Sam snorted. "Ogham; and there's no coffee because I was kind of busy." Not to mention he hadn't wanted to leave Dean alone long enough to make a run for coffee and food.

Dean ran a hand into his hair and grimaced, feeling dried blood. "Takin' a shower. Try not to blow anything up." He left Sam grumbling under his breath and went into the bathroom.

Sam scrawled the last rune and set the marker aside, the picked up the paper he'd written the spell on along with a map of the town. He unfolded the map and laid it over the gris-gris bag in the center of the table and stood. "Glaoch mé an spiorad an chrainn amháin. Taispeáin go bhfuil sé mar aidhm agam dom." The ancient Irish didn't roll as easily off his tongue as Latin and Sam struggled to get the words of the spell out properly. He set the paper aside when he'd finished and shook his head ruefully. "Should have practiced that first." He muttered and then his eyes widened as a faint light began to glow beneath the map from the gris-gris bag. It slowly drew down smaller and smaller and finally a tiny wisp of smoke curled up from the map as the light vanished.

Sam picked up the map and held it up with a dangerous smile as he looked at the pinprick burn mark outside the edge of town to the south. "Gotcha." The gris-gris bag had burnt into a small pile of ash in the middle of the table and flared once, briefly, before going dark.

Dean came out of the shower feeling much better than he had going in and smiled when he saw the table had been cleared and a cup of coffee waited for him. "Nice."

Sam smirked from behind his laptop and pointed to the microwave. "Burgers in there. I found her location. Well," he sat up and turned the laptop around, "I found where she was when she made the gris-gris you found. Hopefully, she's still there."

"She's got no reason not to be." Dean pulled out the burgers and sat, opening one with a hungry grin. "Probably figures both our brains are all over the walls by now." The near truth of that statement chilled him, and, from the look on Sam's face, made him feel the same; too close for comfort. "We have enough fuel for the flame thrower?"

"Yeah. Checked when I went to get food." Sam tapped the laptop's screen to a map reference. "Got an out-of-date satellite image that says there's a little house right here on the edge of a bayou. Friggin' Google. Could be ruins by now for all we know."

Dean snorted and leaned over to look at it. "Great. She's on the edge of the damn swamp, so zombies, snakes, and gators. This day gets better and better."

"We could wait until morning to go in." Sam said it like he was considering it, but, really, he knew they had to go tonight. The longer they waited, the more likely the chance she'd realize they weren't dead or go after someone else.

"Nope. Tonight." Dean agreed with his brother's silent assessment. "Best chance we have of her not expecting it."

"I just wish we had any idea how many zombies she's made." Sam closed the laptop and stood, going to pack up the weapons bag. "You still wearing the amulet Momma Ava gave you?"

Dean snorted and pulled it from under his shirt. "Yes, mom." He finished the burger and grabbed his coffee. "Let's roll, princess."

"You know…" Sam shouldered the weapons bag and followed his brother out of the door. "…one of these days you're gonna wake up in make-up and a damn tiara you keep calling me 'princess'."

Dean barked a laugh. "Like to see you try, little brother." He jogged down the stairs with only a minor headache from the graze and realized how good it felt to be back in synch with his brother. It felt right. He turned at the car and looked over at him, the light above them highlighting the bruises on Sam's neck and he made a silent vow to make sure the mambo understood just how bad she'd screwed up before she died.

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Dean parked a hundred yards back from the house they were aiming for, not wanting to give away that they were there. Not that he really had to worry. It was a moonless night and the dense trees along the road beside the swamp pretty much assured no one could see them even if they were doing naked jumping jacks. He smirked at that visual and eased silently along the road with Sam at his side. They both carried machetes and Dean had salt and the flamethrower in the bag over his shoulder.

Sam reached over and tapped Dean's shoulder, pointing ahead. He'd seen something move among the trees and got an answering nod from his brother. He'd seen it as well. They split by wordless agreement with Dean going into the trees and Sam continuing on the road. He kept one eye on the movement ahead and another where he knew Dean to be, roughly, in the even deeper darkness between the trunks. It was more than likely a zombie left sentry outside the house to catch anyone fool enough to sneak in…like them. He neared the end of the line of trees, and, as expected, a zombie shambled into view with its attention firmly focused on Sam.

"That's right." Sam muttered and hefted the machete. "Keep coming, dumbass. Right here. Tasty Winchester just waiting." He watched the zombie raise an arm, and then Dean was behind it, swinging his machete and the zombie's head hit the road and rolled off to the side.

Dean grinned at his brother. "Tasty Winchester?" He chuckled softly and kicked an arm that reached for him, even with the head gone. "We'll come back for patchwork, here."

Sam nodded and stepped wide around the flailing zombie. He and Dean rounded the trees and found the house, dark wood against darker forest, with the soft sounds of the bayou waters behind it. There were no lights, and, for some reason, that made Sam nervous. He opened his mouth to say as much and froze with Dean at his side. The trees on either side of the house seemed to move of their own accord and it took a moment for Sam to realize that it wasn't the trees.

"Holy crap," Dean breathed. Zombies emerged from either side of the house and a cold feeling settled over him. "We've been set up."

Sam nodded. "She knows." He raised his machete while the first tremble of fear went through him. "Dean?"

Dean shook his head and stepped closer to his brother as the zombies advanced, a dozen at least, and he heard a rustling behind them that said running for it was off the table. "We're gonna have to make a hole and get to the car. Can't take 'em all like this." He had faith in his skills and in his brother's but even they could be outnumbered.

"We need backup." Sam spun to watch their backs, seeing a half dozen of the stitched together creatures no more than twenty feet away. "We'll call Garth."

Dean nodded, his jaw tight as he readied himself. "You stay with me, Sammy."

"Same goes." Sam took a deep breath to prepare and settle his screaming nerves. "Don't get dead." He said softly and swung as the first zombie neared.

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_To Be Continued… _


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Little Bit of Mambo

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Zombies in the south. Sounds like fun until the bodies start dropping…and rising back up. Post 8x13 "Everybody Hates Hitler" the usual hurt/comfort/awesome!boys

Author's Note: Oh, my goodness! Oh, my goodness! XD

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

_**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!__**  
**__~Reviews are Love~_

_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_

_"Holy crap," Dean breathed. Zombies emerged from either side of the house and a cold feeling settled over him. "We've been set up."_

_Sam nodded. "She knows." He raised his machete while the first tremble of fear went through him. "Dean?"_

_Dean shook his head and stepped closer to his brother as the zombies advanced, a dozen at least, and he heard a rustling behind them that said running for it was off the table. "We're gonna have to make a hole and get to the car. Can't take 'em all like this." He had faith in his skills and in his brother's, but even they could be outnumbered._

_"We need backup." Sam spun to watch their backs, seeing a half dozen of the stitched together creatures no more than twenty feet away. "We'll call Garth."_

_Dean nodded, his jaw tight as he readied himself. "You stay with me, Sammy."_

_"Same goes." Sam took a deep breath to prepare and settle his screaming nerves. "Don't get dead." He said softly and swung as the first zombie neared._

**Chapter 5**

Sam's first swing took an arm from the nearest zombie. He kicked it in the chest and brought the machete around, taking its head. "That's one."

Dean snorted. "Don't get cocky, Sammy." He stepped into the wild swing of a zombie's arms, sliced its head off, and shoved the still standing body into the creature behind it. Even in the moonless night, it was easy to see that they had been pieced together from parts of different bodies. Their skins were patches of white and brown, different size hands, one even had two different lengths of legs and humped up and down as it approached. Dean swept one of the legs off with his blade. "You're welcome, stumpy." He grunted and danced back from the reaching arms of another.

Sam sliced the head from another zombie on his left and yelped in surprise when a hand closed around his calf. "Shit!" He looked down and found a severed arm holding fast below his knee. The fingers began to squeeze painfully into muscle and bone.

"Hang on!" Dean ducked under his brother's blade, trusting him to watch his back for the moment he needed. He slid the point of his machete behind the wrist of the dead hand, severing the tendons and pried it loose then stood back up as he tossed it away. He wiped sweat from his forehead as more of the creatures closed around them, grimacing as it flowed into the graze above his eye and stung.

"Flame thrower." Sam kicked a zombie away from his brother's left side and cut into another. "Thin the herd?"

Dean nodded and pulled the bag off his shoulder. "No free hugs from flaming zombies, dude," he warned with a breathless laugh and pulled out the homemade, hand-held flamethrower. Dean stepped back into his brother, letting Sam keep the undead things off him long enough to light it. "Fire in the hole!"

Sam backed up a foot or two to give him space as the first lick of flame lit the darkness. They had only gained ten feet toward the car and needed to do better if they were going to get out with their lives. He blinked as Dean set a zombie between them and the car ablaze. The flickering light only made the scene more macabre, and Sam swallowed with both fear and pity as he looked into the eyes of the two zombies nearest them.

"God...Dean. They're still in there." He could see intelligence looking back at him. Their eyes weren't angry or hungry…they were horrified, and Sam could almost hear the silent screams. The mambo was, indeed, trapping her victims' souls in the decaying flesh.

"Not our problem right now!" Dean yelled and set another on fire.

Sam nodded and pushed the remorse back. There was no time for it now. "Sorry," he whispered as he took the head of yet another of the walking dead.

Dean doused two more in flames and kicked a third to the ground. "Now! Go! Go!" He shoved Sam through the gap and followed, and they broke into a run. Their shadows danced ahead of them as they ran from the flaming corpses coming at their backs. He chanced a look over his shoulder and growled. They ran damn well for Frankensteined zombies, and there was less than ten yards between them. He shoved his machete back in his belt and got the Impala's keys from his pocket. They reached the car with their lungs burning. Dean ripped the driver's side door open and saw Sam do the same across from him and had no time to react as a dark shadow rose up behind his brother.

"SAM!" Dean shouted as misshapen arms wrapped around Sam's chest and yanked him, yelling, off the road. "NO!" Dean sprinted around the hood and used the flamethrower to toss fire into the trees and give him light to see by, but there was nothing to see. Sam and zombie had both vanished. Fighting down the panic he could feel building up, he heard a splash in the bayou below, a struggle, Sam calling his name, and then nothing. "Sammy!" Dean scrambled down the embankment, frantic with terror. He could hear the zombies on the road above, but his attention was on the dark water in front of him. Dean blasted the flamethrower again and stood in shocked indecision. There was no sign of his brother or the zombie that had grabbed him, not even a ripple across the surface. "SAM!"

Dean wanted to wade into the swamp and find him, tear the place apart root by damn root if he had to but the zombies were starting down the slope behind him, and wherever Sam was…he wasn't there. He refused to even consider the thought that his brother may already be dead, drowned in the murky water. "Sam! I'm comin' back! You hear me?" He snarled and turned back up the slope, spraying fire in a wide arc and caught several of the creatures. Dean cut his way up the slope in a rage, letting the terror he felt for his brother give him strength. He crested the hill and dove into Sam's open door, pulling it shut and slid into the driver's seat. Dean gunned the engine and backed down the road, knocking several of the zombies down in the process. He spun the car when he gained enough room and took off back toward town as he clicked off the flame on the flamethrower, set it beside him and dug out his phone with shaking hands.

"Garth, you better be there." Dean growled and dialed the Hunter's number. It went against everything he believed to be driving away from Sam, but rationally he knew he'd do his brother no good if he ended up dead or captured, which was what he decided had happened to Sam. It had to be, because the alternative was unthinkable. "Garth. Get your ass down here. Bring help if you need to."

"Dean? What's going on?" Garth frowned because the stress in Dean's voice was impossible to miss. "What's happened? Is Sam alright?"

"Stop asking questions. You were right. There's a mambo. She's got a damn army of zombies and they got Sam. They took him, Garth." Dean sucked in a breath, forcing himself to calm as he drove. "We need backup and we need it fast. How far away are you?"

"Ok. Ok. Take it easy. I can be there in three hours, maybe two and a half if I miss a few speed limit signs." Garth was already tossing money on the bar for his drinks and waving to the hot blonde bartender he'd been planning on spending the night with as he headed for the door. "I'll call around and see who else I can get. You wait for me, Dean. You don't do Sam any good if you get killed."

"I know that. Just…hurry the hell up." Dean flipped the phone closed and somehow managed to find enough self-control to ease off the gas once he reached the town. He pulled up at their motel and then just sat behind the wheel; loathe to leave the car when he should be going back and finding his brother, zombies be damned. "Son of a bitch!" Dean slammed his hands on the wheel and got out. He turned and leaned over the roof, looking out into the night. "Don't you die on me, Sammy." Dean whispered it like a prayer. "Not again."

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Garth got out of his car and looked up the stairs at the motel room he knew had Dean Winchester waiting inside and sighed. "This ain't gonna be pretty." Even when they hated each other, those brothers would die for each other, and his recent dealings with them had proven that they'd mended their relationship, or started to. Dean was going to be a vengeful mess. He'd heard enough stories from Bobby about them, the lengths they'd go to and the extent to which they could fall apart. "You can do this." Garth grabbed his bag from the front seat and took a deep breath. "Visualize being in control of the situation. You are in control. Ok." He started up the stairs, feeling somewhat calmer about it and knocked on the door only once before it was jerked open.

"About damn time!" Dean said angrily and tugged Garth into the room. "Thought you were bringing help. There's at least twenty of those damn zombies still out there."

"Help's coming. Now just…take a damn breath already and sit down." Garth glared at him.

The tone of voice and facial expression were so 'Bobby' for a moment that Dean subsided out of habit and then smirked in spite of his fear for just a second before it swallowed him again. "How long until they get here? We need to go now." Terror had taken up permanent residence in his head, filling his mind with every unspeakable thing the mambo could be doing to his brother in the hours it took to get to him, and, ironically, Sam just dying was the least despicable thing on the list.

"Look. It's obvious she doesn't want him dead or you would'a found pieces of him." Garth said bluntly and cringed at the vicious look that crossed Dean's face. "What I'm saying is, he's still alive and we're gonna find him. You just gotta keep a lid on the crazy for now, ok?"

Dean glared at him and turned to punch the wall before taking a deep breath. "Right. You're right. Can we do something useful now? Because I left him. I left him, Garth!" Dean hit the wall again.

Garth decided to take his life in his hands and put a hand on the man's shoulder. "If this is what you call 'keepin' a lid on the crazy,' I'd hate to see when you take it off. Breathe, Dean. He's alive and we're gonna find him."

"How do you know?" Dean turned, shrugging off Garth's hand as he paced across the room.

Garth snorted. "Because you won't have it any other way, idjit."

"Dammit, Garth!" Dean yelled and then dropped to sit on the side of Sam's bed. "Ok. Ok." He took a few deep breaths to pull himself back under control.

"Alright." Garth set his bag in a chair and opened it to dig through. "We need to know where Sam is, so you got anything around here with his blood on it?" He took out a bowl, some chalk and a bag with various herbs in it.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Hang on." He went to the trash can and took out the towel from earlier in the day. "It's got both our blood on it, but his is…it's in there."

"What happened?" Garth nodded to Dean's forehead. "That looks like a bullet graze."

"Don't ask." Dean was in no mood to tell anyone, let alone Garth, about what had happened with the gun. He didn't need another Buddhist lecture from the guy.

"Ok. Not askin'." Garth raised a brow and turned back to the table. He went about quickly arranging the locating spell and tuned out the tension he could practically feel rising off the elder Winchester. "Could you take a step back? You're distracting my Chi."

Dean stopped, his jaw dropped, he glared and then shook his head. "I'll distract your damn Chi," He grumbled and went to the door, flinging it open and stood outside on the balcony. He wanted to hang over Garth's shoulder until he had his brother's location. Hell, he wanted to go screaming back off into that swamp with a damn flamethrower until he found his brother. It was killing him just sitting there, forced to spin his wheels with his little brother in the hands of a psychotic bitch with a sick kick for the walking dead. Three hours could be an eternity.

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Sam pulled against the strap binding his hands behind him with a growl. Whatever they had used to tie him up was damn effective. He jerked at the pole he was bound to, and it didn't so much as shake. "Dammit." He groaned and took another look around the room. The walls looked like mud with wood supports. Several dim lights hung from the ceiling illuminating the dirt floor he stood barefoot on. The most disturbing thing for Sam on waking had been the realization that someone, or something, had stripped him, and he stood now bare-chested and barefoot in loose white, cotton pants. Thankfully, for some reason, Momma Ava's charm still hung around his neck and on his chest over the healing claw marks.

He hoped Dean was alright. The last sight he'd had of him had been his brother's shocked face over the roof of the Impala. From there, things got a little fuzzy. He remembered the zombie grabbing him and rolling them down the hill into the water and nothing after that until he'd woken here. Sam glanced uneasily to his left. Two zombies stood there in front of a long curtain just watching him. Like the zombies at the house, the eyes in their bodies were alive with terror, and Sam desperately hoped he wasn't going to find out what _that_ felt like.

Sam tried to turn when he heard a door open behind him. "You should let me go now." He knew without having to see that it was the mambo. "Before my brother comes looking for you." His answer was a low chuckle as she stepped silently around him. "Still hiding?"

"Only from those I may have cause to fear." She reached up and flipped the hood off her head and tugged the veil aside to reveal a middle-aged blonde woman. "I no longer need fear you."

Sam looked at her in surprise. She wasn't what he'd been expecting, especially after Momma Ava. This woman looked like she belonged in a country club somewhere, not stitching together dead bodies in a bayou. "Who the hell are you?"

She smiled and took a moment to look at him, a long, slow slide of her eyes down his body and back up with a look on her face that made Sam's skin crawl, and shook her head. "Names have power." She stepped up to him and pressed a finger over his heart. "Sam." She pressed until the sharpened nail broke the skin. "Winchester."

Sam gasped and struggled against his bonds as her finger dug into his chest and blood began to flow. "Get off me!"

She pulled her finger out and made a show of licking his blood off the tip. She eyed the charm around his neck with distaste. "I know the mambo who gave you that…thing. I will tell you something she didn't." She ran the knuckles of her other hand down his chest to the waist of the white pants. "It will only protect you while you live. At the moment of death, you're mine."

Sam started to chuckle. "You can't take it off, can you? Wow. That must be…really irritating." He shouted in pain when she stabbed that pointed nail into his stomach and yanked it back out. He panted for air and glared at her. "She's not a mambo."

"Not now. No." The woman smiled indulgently up at him. "Once…where do you think I learned everything I know? Only a mambo would know to make this charm."

Sam's mind reeled. Momma Ava had been a mambo? He couldn't reconcile the image of the woman they'd met with the evil thing in front of him. "No. No way. She's not Bokor."

"You can't properly understand order without first understanding chaos." The woman rolled her eyes. "Or so she used to tell me, like it was all some ethics experiment to her." She chuckled and stabbed a finger into Sam again, just below his ribs. "I'm going to bleed you, Sam." She smiled up at him and put the bloody finger to her mouth again, licking at the blood obscenely. "You wear the white of the supplicant. It is to please the spirits." She moved around him, trailing that sharpened nail along his side until he twitched and then stabbed into him again. "I'm going to turn them red with your blood, and the Dahomean will leave you. The charm…" She pressed her finger into his back and scraped her nail against the back of his collar bone until he cried out. "…will stop working and I will have you."

"Go to hell." Sam glared angrily at her when she came back where he could see her.

"I could make this pleasant, Sam." She tugged at the loose waist of the cotton pants with a hungry look in her eyes. "It's not every day I have a body down here as…" She chuckled throatily and pressed into his hip, oblivious to the blood that soaked into her robe from him. "…athletic as yours. I could make you beg me to finish bleeding you."

"No. You really couldn't." Sam stared death down at her. Knowing his name had obviously taught her nothing if she thought there was any torment she could offer that would break him. He'd survived the worst heaven and hell had to offer for nearly two hundred years. Her little mind couldn't begin to approach the level of depravity and pain that was still lurking in the back of his mind thanks to the twisted creativity of Michael and Lucifer.

She scowled and stepped back, shrugging gracefully. "Have it your way. Pain it is." She snapped her fingers, and the two zombies walked unevenly to Sam while she went to the curtain and pulled it aside with a practiced twitch. "Bleed him, but only blood! Nothing more!" Her voice was clipped, the command clear, and the zombies jerked into motion.

Sam flinched back as their hands reached out to him. One of them had the head of a woman and he could see the scream trapped in her eyes even though her hands gripped into his flesh and pressed, breaking through and blood began to flow as he cried out.

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"Dean."

Dean spun with Garth's call and strode back into the room. "You find him?"

"Yeah." Garth held up a map. "Got a point here." He pointed to a small black spot and shrugged. "That's us and your blood reacting with the spell, but this one has to be Sam."

Dean leaned over and took the map, holding it up to look for himself and cursed. "Son of a bitch! That's the house we were at!" He tossed the map to the table and pulled his jacket off the chair. "Where's your backup?"

"Just waiting for a call." Garth picked up his bag and started for the door. "Well, come on already."

Dean smiled darkly and followed him out while Garth pulled out his phone. "I'm comin', Sammy."

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_To Be Continued… _


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Little Bit of Mambo

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** Zombies in the south. Sounds like fun until the bodies start dropping…and rising back up. Post 8x13 "Everybody Hates Hitler" the usual hurt/comfort/awesome!boys

**Author's Note:** I thought maybe this was going to be the last chapter and then the boys Gibbs-slapped me and now it's not. :P Carrying on.

**Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678** :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**_**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!__  
__~Reviews are Love~_**

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"_Dean."_

_Dean spun with Garth's call and strode back into the room. "You find him?"_

"_Yeah." Garth held up a map. "Got a point here." He pointed to a small black spot and shrugged. "That's us and your blood reacting with the spell, but this one has to be Sam."_

_Dean leaned over and took the map, holding it up to look for himself and cursed. "Son of a bitch! That's the house we were at!" He tossed the map to the table and pulled his jacket off the chair. "Where's your backup?"_

"_Just waiting for a call." Garth picked up his bag and started for the door. "Well, come on already."_

_Dean smiled darkly and followed him out while Garth pulled out his phone. "I'm comin', Sammy."_

Chapter 6

Dean parked the Impala behind a collection of two other cars and a pickup down the road from the mambo's house. Garth pulled up beside him and smiled at Dean as he got out. The night was still black and moonless in the wee hours of the morning; they still had three hours until dawn. Dean was vibrating with the need to get to his brother, and he climbed out of the car with his machete and flamethrower and lit the flame in readiness. He nodded to the three men who greeted Garth. One looked to be Bobby's age while the other two were nearer his. They were all scruffy looking in vests and baseball caps and had that indefinable something about them that always said 'Hunter' to Dean.

"Dean, this is Joe, Manny, and that's Dave. He doesn't talk much." Garth smiled and pointed to each man.

"Hope you brought your A-game boys." Dean gave his machete a practice swing. "There's close to twenty of these bastards and they are not your average zombies. Don't let 'em get a grip on you. You'll lose a limb."

"That strong?" Manny asked in surprise.

"More." Dean said grimly. "And they're fast."

"Dave?" Garth asked the older Hunter.

"On it." Dave grumbled and pulled a harness with a canister, hose, and nozzle from the back of his truck. He slid it over his shoulders and shrugged it into position. The older man looked at Dean and the flamethrower in his hand and smirked. "Mine's bigger."

Dean smiled. Another time he would have enjoyed joking with the man, but his little brother was in that damn house going through God knew what. "Let's go." He strode forward and flicked on a flashlight. The mambo bitch already knew he was coming, so stealth seemed pointless. Dean glanced to his left, surprised to find Garth keeping up with his long-legged stride.

"They've got the zombies. You and me are going for Sam while they watch our backs out here." Garth gave his machete a practice swing. "Been a while since I Garthed a zombie."

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes though he appreciated the man's attempt at keeping it light. "Head's up." Dean said suddenly as his flashlight caught a flicker of movement ahead of them. The other Hunters fanned out, going quickly ahead of him and Garth. He growled unhappily at not being on the front line but let it go.

"Balls." Garth groaned as the zombies shambled quickly out from around the trees. "That's…a lot of friggin' zombies, man."

Dean nodded grimly. "She added a few." The ones he and Sam had taken out looked to have been replaced, and he stopped counting at twenty. He smiled as the first trail of fire shot from Dave's flamethrower and he easily covered five of the undead before stepping back so Joe and Manny could wade in with machete's swinging. Dean's skin crawled, and, trusting his instincts, he turned and swung his machete in a wide arc. Sure enough, a zombie stood only feet behind him and he cleanly severed its head before kicking it down and dousing it in flames.

"Whoa! Sneaky little bastards!" Garth cut a leg from the zombie next to the one Dean had killed and bent to get its head before stepping back and letting the older Winchester set it alight.

"Watch your backs!" Dean shouted, warning the others as more zombies closed in to encircle them. "This is gonna take too damn long. Come on."

"Uh, Dean? We had a plan, remember?" Garth rolled his eyes and jogged behind him.

Dean's patience was gone. He gave an angry yell, stepping past Dave and landed a kick in the chest of the nearest zombie, sending it sprawling. He hacked an arm from the next, a leg from another, shoving each to the side and giving himself a hole in the line of undead to squeeze through. Dean came out the other side and started for the house at a run.

"Long-legged…freaks." Garth gasped as he came up beside Dean and grinned at the surprised expression he gave him. "What? I'm wiry."

Dean snorted, surprised, and a little impressed, that Garth had kept up with him and slid to a stop at the door of the house. He reared back and kicked it in with a crash. "Sam?" He called and went quickly through the main room to a door at the back.

"Dean." Garth called. He waited for Dean to look back at him and pointed at the floor then flicked off his flashlight.

Dean's eyes widened as he saw a faint, flickering light outline a square in the floor. "Trapdoor. There's a damn cellar." He strode back into the room and knelt.

"You, uh, might wanna lose the flamethrower in here." Garth shone his light around the walls and ceilings. "This place'll go up like a tinderbox if you use it."

"Dammit." Dean snarled but agreed. He blew out the flame and set it aside and dug his fingers into the side of the trapdoor. "Ready?" Garth nodded and Dean tore it open. He flung it back and slid his legs inside, dropping to the floor below. "STOP!" Dean bellowed it at the back of the zombie carrying his brother under one arm like a sack of potatoes.

"You stop!" A female voice replied and stepped slightly out where Dean could see her while a second zombie came out from behind a curtain and went to the center of the room and a pole standing there. Dean sensed Garth move up behind him on his left and pause, but he never took his focus off the scene in front of him.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light and he got a clearer look, Dean's eyes widened in fear. Sam had been stripped and was only wearing some sort of white pants that looked to have been turned red almost to his knees with his own blood. "Put him down. Now." Dean's voice was a low, dangerous growl.

The mambo smiled. "I'm not done with him yet." She raised a finger when Dean took a step toward her, and the zombie holding his brother tightened its grip. "Keep coming and my zombie will rip out his rib cage. All it has to do is flex his fingers."

Dean eased to the right slightly, his gaze returning to rest on his brother, and his eyes narrowed in renewed rage. The fingers of the zombie's hand were not just clenched around the side of Sam's chest. They were inside it, dug through the flesh and leaking blood to drip slowly on the floor. He tightened his fingers around the grip of the machete and stopped moving. "Let him go now and maybe I don't kill you."

She laughed softly. "I thought a Hunter would be a better liar."

"Fine." Dean snarled. "I promise to make it quick if you put him down. Now." He slid his left hand to the gun at his back.

"Don't think so." She snapped her fingers. The zombie holding Sam went through the curtain with him while the other creature took hold of the pillar and pulled. It cracked loud enough to make Dean duck and the ceiling groaned.

"Garth! Get the hell out of there!" Dean called up and then ran for the curtain. He grabbed a handful and ducked under it as the ceiling began to collapse. "Shit!" Behind the curtain was another room with an altar the opposite of Momma Ava's. There were red and black silks, symbols and emblems and blood everywhere - in bowls and on the floor in disturbing puddles. He ducked reflexively as a chunk of wood from the floor above hit his back and then he saw it, a crack in the far wall.

Dean ran for it, shoving the table out of his path with a crash and shouldered his way through the hidden door as the house above caved in behind him and cut him off. "Shit." He gasped and stumbled into a low tunnel. He could hear footsteps ahead of him and crept as silently as he could after them. Dean turned off his flashlight and shoved it in his back pocket then took out his gun, swapping hands with the machete. He followed the sounds around a corner and peeked his head out just long enough to see the zombie still carrying his brother and the mambo's blonde head beside it. He didn't wait for a better time. Dean leaned around the corner with his arm out and fired, taking the mambo high in the shoulder.

She spun with a cry and the zombie, bereft of her control for just a moment, dropped Sam to the tunnel floor with a dull thump. Dean leaped ahead, sprinting the distance and hacked the zombie's head from it shoulders.

"KILL THEM!" The mambo screamed it and vanished down the tunnel.

Dean backed up a pace from the zombie and then stared, confused, as it slammed its hands up into the ceiling. "Oh,…shit." He groaned. Even headless, it was still following its creator's orders the best way it could. "No, no, no!" Dean bent and grabbed his brother, rolled Sam's head and shoulders into him and dragged him back as fast as he could. He only just cleared the corner before the zombie pulled the roof of the tunnel down on itself. Dean laid Sam down and threw himself on top of him as dirt and wood showered down around them.

Dean coughed as silence fell after a long moment and pushed up, shoving debris off his shoulders. "Sammy?" He dug his flashlight from his back pocket and flicked it on, blinking in the harsh light for a second and then shone it down. Seeing the extent of Sam's injuries up close did nothing for his calm. There were numerous holes in his chest and stomach and more down each of his sides along his ribs, and Dean understood with a sick jolt that they had all been made by fingers digging into his flesh.

"Shit, Sam." Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Stay put." He muttered and stood, dialing Garth while he checked the other end of the tunnel only to find it was just as blocked.

"Dean! Where the hell are you?" Garth's voice shouted out of Dean's phone.

Dean smirked. "Right where you left me…mostly. We're in a tunnel under the house and it's caved in. Sam…" He went back and knelt by his brother. "He's lost a lot of blood, Garth. We gotta get him out of here."

Garth sighed. He'd damn near been pulled down along with the house when it had collapsed and had thrown himself outside at the feet of a couple pissed off zombies just in time. "Alright. We'll find you soon as we're done mopping up out here."

"What, you haven't killed 'em all yet?" Dean asked with a chuckle. "Thought you guys were pros."

"Because I like you so much, Dean, I'm not gonna tell Dave you insulted his prowess with a flamethrower." Garth snorted. "Conserve your air. I'll find you."

Again, somewhat to Dean's surprise, he found the matter-of-fact confidence in Garth's voice reassuring. The quirky, kinda scrawny hunter was far more competent than his appearance suggested, and Dean had found his opinion of the guy growing every time they worked together. The fact that he had followed him blindly down into that basement - plainly a potential death-trap - without a second thought or moment's hesitation to help rescue Sam had earned him a level of respect from Dean that very few other people in his life had ever achieved.

Dean flipped his phone closed once Garth hung up on him and put it back in his pocket and turned his attention where it needed to be. "Hey, Sammy. How about you wake up now?" It was actually chilly in the earthen tunnel and Dean sat with his back to the wall and pulled his brother's upper body into his lap to try and keep him warm. He checked all the wounds he could see, and, while some of them bled sluggishly, most had stopped, but Sam's skin was slick with his own blood. The new wounds, the gashes on his chest, even the bruises around his throat left by his own hand made Dean groan and drop his head on top of his brother's into his hair for a moment.

"Not sure I could screw up worse on this job, Sam." Dean said softly. He set the flashlight on the ground and gave his brother a light shake. "Come on, dude. Why are you still out?" It was making him nervous, because, blood loss aside, there was no reason Sam shouldn't have woken up when the damn zombie dropped him. "Sammy." Dean took his chin and turned his face up, frowning down at him. He grabbed the flashlight and looked more closely, rubbing his thumb through something dark, red, and viscous near the corner of his mouth. "What the hell is this?" It wasn't blood and Dean's rage burned anew. "That bitch drugged you."

Dean pulled him in closer and kept a hand on Sam's chest where he could feel his heart beating and grimaced as his fingers slid in the tacky blood. "Ok, buddy. I gotcha. You just take your time." He looked up and down the tunnel and hoped Garth found them before they suffocated. "Got all the time in the world."

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Dean sat in the darkness, checked his phone and sighed softly. It had been two and a half hours and they were still underground, still waiting for Garth and the others to find them. He'd tried shouting so they could find the right spot, but all it did was use air. There was enough between them and the surface to muffle any sound. To make matters worse, water had begun to seep in the end of the tunnel the zombie had collapsed. For the moment, he didn't mind as the water was actually warmer than the cold air of the tunnel which had forced him to break the embargo he'd had on cuddling with his little brother once he'd hit double digits. He had Sam rolled into his chest with his face tucked under his chin so he could do a half-assed job of wrapping his jacket around him. Sam had been shivering, still was, but he'd at least succeeded in dropping the full body trembles back to a shiver. The air was getting thin; Dean could tell. He had that odd euphoric feeling of not having quite enough oxygen getting to his brain.

"'least you can sleep through suffocating, Sam." Dean muttered to his brother breathlessly. Sam chose that moment to moan softly and stir and Dean rolled his eyes. "How come you always gotta be contrary?" He flicked the flashlight back on and tipped his little brother's head back enough to see his face, holding him up. "Sammy?"

Sam fought to get his eyes open. He felt like his whole body weighed more than it should. He was cold, in pain in so many places he couldn't pick one to focus on, and his head was fuzzy, but his brother's voice made him come awake. It was too ingrained a reaction to ignore. If there was even a breath of consciousness left in him, he would always respond to that voice. He blinked finally and frowned with the vague sort of realization that Dean was holding him. "Dean?" Sam frowned harder because that ragged, breathy sound couldn't be his voice. "Wha…"

"Voodoo bitch was bleeding you and drugged you. I brought the cavalry, saved your ass, and then uh…well…" Dean broke off and smiled ruefully. "...Winchester luck kicked in."

"Awe…" Sam coughed and cleared his throat. "…awesome." He shivered and didn't have the strength to argue when Dean pulled him back in. He did have enough presence of mind to see they were in a tunnel and a flashlight was providing their only light. "Wha's goin' on?"

"We're a little stuck." Dean worked to keep his tone light and not sound as out of breath as he felt. "Garth and the others, they're up there working at getting us out right now."

"Mambo?" Sam closed his eyes as his head swam and resisted the urge to throw up. He didn't think that would go too well right now.

"Got away." Dean said angrily and shook his head. "We'll find her again if she doesn't find us first. Think we pissed her off a…a little."

Sam snorted softly into his brother's neck and had to work to get his breath back. "S'hard…hard to breathe."

"I know." Dean said softly and pulled the sides of his coat more tightly around Sam's bare back as his shivering picked up speed again.

"There water?" Sam's left arm hung down his brother's side and his hand was sitting in lukewarm water.

"No big." Dean assured him. "We sprung a little leak. Go back to sleep, dude."

Sam wanted to argue and stay awake, he really did, but he couldn't fight it as his eyes closed and the heaviness in his limbs pulled him back under.

Dean held Sam tighter when he felt him go lax again. "Swear we're…we're getting outta here, Sammy."

Dean kept his comments to himself after that, conserving whatever air they had left. Sam would mumble and mutter against him periodically, but stayed thankfully unaware of how much harder just drawing a breath was becoming. He let his head fall back against the packed earth of the wall. The flashlight shone dimly on the side of his face and Dean knew he should turn it off again to conserve the batteries but moving seemed beyond him. He left it and couldn't fight the drowsiness that began to pull him down. Even through the fog that swirled through his mind, it registered that he had not heard a sound from above that would indicate impending rescue. He knew that, once he let himself go, he was not likely to be waking up again. With his little remaining strength, he pulled his brother closer in a last protective hug, letting his head drop to rest atop Sam's. "I'm sorry, Sammy," he murmured as his eyes closed, grateful that, if Sam was going to die, at least he wasn't going to die scared, alone, and in pain. As for himself….well, there were far worse ways to go than drifting off at his brother's side.

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Dean roused slightly when he felt Sam moving against him and tightened his grip in a fog as his brain tried to wake up all the way. He heard a voice and frowned because it was wrong; it wasn't Sam. That made him open his eyes and he blinked, momentarily blinded as light flashed in at him.

"Dean. Dean, let him go. We got him."

"Garth?" Dean asked in a bare whisper.

"Let him go, Dean, so we can get you out of here." Garth said it slowly and calmly. He'd waved Manny and Joe off from trying to take his brother from him when Dean had tightened his arms with something like panic on his face. "Dean."

Dean loosened his grip on his brother and glanced up to find a hole had been opened above them and sunlight was filtering down through it. "Took you…long enough."

Garth grinned. "We couldn't see where the damn tunnel was until the sun came up." He waved the two men back over. "Outlined the whole tunnel in shadow, and we just went for the bit nearest the house. Careful with him, guys." He admonished as Joe tugged on Sam's arm.

Dean kept his eyes on the men pulling his brother out of his grasp as they splashed back a little under Sam's weight. "Ge'me up."

Garth didn't argue. He slid under Dean's arm and grunted loud and long with the effort of heaving the much larger man to his feet. He groaned. "Gonna need a chiropractor."

Dean chuckled with relief and looked up again, finding Dave waiting at the top of the hole. "Mornin', Dave."

"Ain't had coffee. It ain't good." Dave replied gruffly, but there was a hint of a smile on his grim face as he turned away and a ladder came down a moment later.

"Cheerful kinda guy." Dean stepped around the men with his still insensible brother. "Let me get up first." If anyone was going to be pulling Sam out of the damn hole, it was him, and he climbed the ladder as quickly as his stiff limbs would allow. When he reached the top, he stopped and took a deep breath, appreciating the ability to do that again. He nodded to Dave and turned back to the hole. "Ok, pass him up."

"Dean, you could let us…" Garth started to call up and put his hands up in surrender when Dean glared back down at him. "Right. What was I thinkin'? Go on guys."

Dean reached down and got his hands under his brother's shoulders as the men held him up. He felt Dave take a grip in the back of his belt and pull, keeping him from over-balancing as he took Sam's weight. "Thanks, man." He heaved, groaning, and slowly Sam came up out of the tunnel until Dean had him laid out in the sun in his lap…again. "Gettin' to be an embarrassing habit here, Sammy."

Garth came up out of the hole next and dropped beside them. "Did the drug keep him out all this time?" he asked worriedly.

Dean shook his head. "No, he woke up once, uh…" He glanced at his watch. "Wow. Like an hour ago. Went right back out again."

"Not surprised." Garth cast a critical eye over Sam's chest and the wounds there and scowled. "Are those…they look like someone stuck their fingers in his chest."

"Zombies." Dean growled, and then looked up and around the rubble that used to be the mambo's house. There were numerous burning heaps and he raised a brow. "Guys had a hell of a zombie roast out here."

"Well, we couldn't all take a nap." Dave said as he came around and took one of Sam's arms.

Garth stuck a hand in Dean's right pocket where he knew the man kept them and fished the Impala's keys out. He batted Dean's hand away and stood. "I'm gonna bring her around unless you wanna carry him all the way back there."

Dean growled and nodded for him to go. "You put even a scratch on my baby, I'm takin' it outta your ass!" Dean shouted after him.

Dave chuckled. "I think I like you." He sniffed and ran a hand under his nose and lifted Sam up as Dean stood. "Don't much like people in general."

Dean grinned wearily, taking some of Sam's weight under his other arm. "I get that." He looked around at the three men and nodded. "Thanks guys." He said it sincerely. He never would have reached Sam in time without them. "I owe you. You ever need anything, Garth'll find me." They all gave gruff thanks and followed them out to the road.

Manny slapped a hand into Dean's shoulder as he passed him to go to his car. "Garth, he told us a few things when he asked for our help." Joe and Dave both nodded as he spoke and then looked at Sam, hanging between Dean and Dave. "We know what he did."

"You tell him we said…you know, thanks and stuff." Joe scuffed the dirt with a boot and smiled. "I wouldn't'a done it."

Dean stared at them and understood as Joe and Manny walked away; they meant Sam jumping into the Cage to stop the apocalypse. Dave jerked him back into motion by pulling on Sam.

"Not all o' us are stupid enough to believe all the crap we hear," Dave said fiercely and then smoothed his face with another small smile. "Those two, they got a hunt they left to come down here. I'm stayin' til you get this bitch." His eyes traveled down Sam's bloodied chest angrily. "She needs killin'."

"Damn straight she does." Dean growled it, in complete agreement and smiled when the Impala rounded the bend with a tight-faced Garth behind the wheel as he carefully avoided every bump and hole he could see. Dean hitched Sam up higher on his shoulder. "She's mine." Dean declared and Dave gave him a short nod of understanding.

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_To Be Continued… _


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** Little Bit of Mambo

**Author**: Disasteriffic Kaz

**Info:** Zombies in the south. Sounds like fun until the bodies start dropping…and rising back up. Post 8x13 "Everybody Hates Hitler" the usual hurt/comfort/awesome!boys

**Author's Note**: Each time I think I've hit the last chapter, the boys successfully sidetrack me and we end up with more. :P

**Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678** :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

**_**Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!__  
__~Reviews are Love~_**

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_Dean grinned wearily, taking some of Sam's weight under his other arm. "I get that." He looked around at the three men and nodded. "Thanks guys." He said it sincerely. He never would have reached Sam in time without them. "I owe you. You ever need anything, Garth'll find me." They all gave gruff thanks and followed them out to the road._

_Manny slapped a hand into Dean's shoulder as he passed him to go to his car. "Garth, he told us a few things when he asked for our help." Joe and Dave both nodded as he spoke and then looked at Sam, hanging between Dean and Dave. "We know what he did."_

"_You tell him we said…you know, thanks and stuff." Joe scuffed the dirt with a boot and smiled. "I wouldn't'a done it."_

_Dean stared at them and understood as Joe and Manny walked away; they meant Sam jumping into the Cage to stop the apocalypse. Dave jerked him back into motion by pulling on Sam._

"_Not all o' us are stupid enough to believe all the crap we hear," Dave said fiercely and then smoothed his face with another small smile. "Those two, they got a hunt they left to come down here. I'm stayin' til you get this bitch." His eyes traveled down Sam's bloodied chest angrily. "She needs killin'."_

"_Damn straight she does." Dean growled it, in complete agreement and smiled when the Impala rounded the bend with a tight-faced Garth behind the wheel as he carefully avoided every bump and hole he could see. Dean hitched Sam up higher on his shoulder. "She's mine." Dean declared and Dave gave him a short nod of understanding._

Chapter 7

Dean shut the motel room door on Dave's back as the man jogged down the stairs and went to his brother on the far bed. They were going to have to burn the comforter on that bed when they were done. It was spotted with Sam's blood just from laying him on it. "Sammy?"

Sam nodded. He'd woken halfway up the stairs and curled around himself as the pain from his myriad wounds ached through him. "Mmf."

Dean snorted and grabbed the antiseptic and some gauze from the first aid kit next to him and sat. "Gotta clean all these. How's the nausea? You gonna hurl?" He smiled when Sam gave him a small shake of his head. "Garth's makin' a supply run for us." He scowled as he started cleaning the numerous holes in his brother's left side and the few in his back. He really wished he'd had a cleaner shot at that mambo bitch in the tunnel.

Sam hissed in a breath, and the pain of Dean cleaning the wounds did the job of rousing him completely and he blinked, looking around in confusion, and then turning his head to look at him. "Dean? How'd we get out of the tunnel?"

Dean stopped and stared and then shook his head with a short laugh. "Garth." It bothered him that it had taken Sam that long to wake up enough to actually recognize their surroundings. "You know what day it is?"

Sam considered for a moment and shook his head. "Not really. What the hell'd she give me?"

"Don't know." Dean taped small bandages over the wounds on his back and left side and nudged him. "Roll."

Sam groaned and flopped to his back. "Think…I lost a little blood." He frowned and looked down at his legs and the blood stained pants the mambo had put him in. "Ugh, I really wanna change."

"When I'm done." Dean went at the rest of the wounds quietly while the rage stirred in him. It had to hurt like hell, both while it had been happening and now, and yet all Sam did as Dean cleaned the wounds was grimace and let the occasional grunt of discomfort out. He felt a surge of pride for his little brother who, as he watched, lost his battle with consciousness yet again as his head lolled to the side. "Shit." Dean put a hand quickly to the side of his throat and relaxed when he felt his pulse thrumming strongly beneath his fingers. At least he'd be able to finish patching him up without inflicting even more pain than Sam had already suffered.

There was a knock on the door and Dean tensed. He pulled his gun and went to it quickly, easing it open when he saw Garth through the peephole. "Hey."

"Got everything your blood-drained little brother could need to get back to a hundred percent." Garth said cheerfully as he walked into the room and then glanced over at Sam. He frowned. "How is he still out?"

"He woke up for a few minutes." Dean closed the door and ran a hand through his hair. "Man, whatever that bitch dosed him with is hardcore."

"What'd it look like?" Garth set his bag on the table and started pulling things out - orange juice, bananas, several wrapped, cold sandwiches, and last he held up a plastic covered slice of peach pie. "Never say I don't deliver."

Dean grinned and nodded. "You got style, Garth." He set his gun down, went back to his brother and sat, covering more of the wounds while he spoke. "Whatever she gave him it was dark red, thick, she fed it to him."

"Narrows it down." Garth nodded and made mental notes. "I can probably find out what it was and how much longer he's gonna be pulling a Rip Van Winkle on us."

"Got any idea how we're gonna track down the mambo?" Dean took the stack of bandages Garth handed him with a nod of thanks.

"I maybe got an idea or three. I'll have to run out and grab a few things." Garth shook his head. Sam looked like a patchwork quilt with the squares of bandage all over his upper body. "Dave's gonna be out there watching your backs." He smiled at the surprised look on Dean's face and shrugged. "He won't leave. Apparently, he's taken a personal insult from your mambo or something."

Dean looked back down at Sam and thought he knew what it was. He wondered if it would help or hurt his brother to tell him what the Hunters had said. "Thanks, Garth. You really came through for me on this one. I don't know what…" his voice trailed off as he looked back at his brother, still too pale and too unconscious.

"He'll be fine, Dean." Garth dropped a hand on his shoulder for a moment and then clapped his hands together. "Off to do some mojo shopping." He went to the door while Dean chuckled. "Stay outta trouble for five minutes, wouldja?"

Dean snorted and finished patching up his brother. He stood and went to his own bed, dropping onto it wearily. It had been a hell of a couple of days. "Nothin's ever easy, huh, Sammy?" He muttered and rolled back into his pillow. He slid a hand under it around the handle of the knife he'd already put there and decided to give himself a few hours while the sun was up and Dave was outside making sure nothing hinkey came up the stairs at them.

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Dean woke with a start, his hand jerking the knife from under his pillow before he was even awake. He looked around the room with a frown. Sam was still in his bed and had only moved enough to roll away from the sliver of light coming through the curtains. It looked just as Dean had left it yet, as he sat up, he knew something was different. He threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood. There was nothing.

"What the hell?" Dean whispered and scowled. He prowled the room and checked the bathroom, then went to the window and twitched the edge of the curtain aside. He gave a nod to Dave who was down in the parking lot in his truck right where he should be. He pulled the curtain back and shook himself. "I'm getting paranoid."

He went to the back wall and bent to the mini-fridge, still with the knife in his hand. Dean just couldn't convince himself to set it aside. He took a beer out of the fridge and then froze as an odd, soft sound reached his ears. Dean stood and stared around. It had been a creak. He turned in a circle and still saw nothing out of place. Dean spun to the wall behind him as he heard a distinctive crunch and gasped as a hole was suddenly torn in the wall.

"Sammy!" Dean shouted and then shouted again in surprise and anger when a patchwork arm darted in through wall, grabbed the front of his shirt and jerked him forward. "Shit!" He was pulled into the hole, ducking his head to avoid cracking it open on the jagged wood and was pulled through. He had a momentary vision of two zombies on either side of the hole, clinging to the wall like Spiderman, and then he was falling as he was dropped to the ground from their second-floor room. Dean crashed to the ground in a heap and rolled as the air was knocked out of him and fought to stay conscious.

Sam jerked with his brother's shout and rolled to his back. His head was still muzzy with after-effects of the drug the mambo had given him. "Dean?" He looked up and gasped in a shocked breath. One zombie stood in the room while a second came in a hole in the wall and his brother was nowhere to be seen. "No, no, no!" Sam rolled off the side of the bed with a thump and shoved a hand under Dean's pillow. "Dammit." He groaned, finding the knife that should have been there gone.

"Dean!" Sam yelled and staggered to his feet. He backed into the window with a thump as the nearest zombie reached for him and spotted the weapons bag on the other side of the room with the handle of his machete hanging out the top. He groaned again, willing his spinning head to stop, and dove over his brother's bed and under the zombie's reaching arm. He hit the floor hard, punching the air out of him for a second as he scrambled up and tugged the machete free.

Sam cut an arm from the second zombie as it came for him, then bent and took one of its legs. He kicked it over toward the bathroom and turned to swing at the other. "Shit!" He yelled when his leg was grabbed and he was pulled from his feet. He hit the floor hard again, feeling fresh blood begin to well from his wounds. He cried out in pain as the hand of the arm he'd severed clamped onto his shoulder while the rest of its body, on the other side of the room, began to crawl up his legs toward his chest.

The door of the room burst open and Sam squinted into the glare of the midday sun as a body blocked some of the light. "Dean?"

"Nope." Dave waded into the room with a short sword. He sliced the head from the zombie still standing, stomped on the wrist of the severed arm holding Sam's shoulder and kicked it loose. "Hold still, kid." He bent and cut the zombie's other arm off, then its head. Dave grabbed the arm and growled as he had to pry each finger out of Sam's calf. "Sorry." He threw it into the bathroom and reached down, taking one of Sam's arms and pulled him up, setting him on the end of Dean's bed.

"Stay." Dave ordered and went to the hole. "Smart sons of bitches. You gonna live?" He called down and watched the eldest Winchester roll onto his back below and wave an arm. He saw Dean lift his head and raise his brows in silent question and Dave rolled his eyes. "Yes, your brother's fine. I got him. Get yer ass back up here."

Sam hunched over on the bed, holding his left shoulder and trying to ignore the fresh blood staining the leg of the white pants, the top half of which were brown and stiff already with his blood from before. "Thank you." Sam said breathlessly and got his head up enough to meet the man's eyes. "Dave?"

Dave nodded and shrugged. "S'my job." He went to the door and looked down, snorting as Dean appeared and made slow, painful progress up the stairs.

"Shut up." Dean growled as he reached the top. "Damn thing came through the wall, man. Not my fault."

Dave chuckled softly. "Better pack up." He went back out and pulled the door shut.

"Sam?" Dean went around the end of the bed, grimacing at the carnage with still twitching bits of zombie on the floor. "How bad they get you?"

"Leg. It's ok." Sam straightened with effort. "Give me some clothes. We need to…to get out of here. Now."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Ok." He dragged Sam's bag up onto his bed then hunched over it. "Crap."

"You went out the wall?" Sam asked in concern.

Dean nodded and jumped when he felt his brother's hand on his shoulder. "Dude, sit back down. I'm good." He'd banged his shoulder and his hip when he hit the ground and was thankful they were only on the second floor and that there had been grass rather than cement behind the motel. "Yeah, I hurt but nothing's broken. I got lucky. Come on." He shoved Sam down so he was sitting again and pushed his bag to him. "Get dressed while I pack."

"Gimme the…uh, need a bandage." Sam waved at the first aid kit on the night stand and pulled out his jeans and a pair of boxers. He rolled his eyes. "S'my last pair of jeans."

"Hurry up." Dean gave him the kit and grabbed his own bag. He went down to the car to give his brother a couple minutes to get his clothes on. He looked over as Dave came jogging around the corner of the motel. "Anything?"

Dave shook his head and looked up as a peel of thunder rumbled above them. "Clear." He shrugged. "For now."

Dean shoved his bag in the trunk and started back up the stairs. He stopped for a moment, holding his aching hip and groaned. "Shit, that's gonna hurt later." For once he was almost thankful for that year in Purgatory; knowing there wasn't a hospital around to conveniently patch up broken bones meant learning how to take a damn fall really fast. He went back in the motel room and Sam was still on the side of the bed but he had a shirt and boxers on and his jeans down around his ankles while he wrapped a bandage around his calf. Dean frowned as blood was already beginning to seep through in spots.

"Not as bad as it looks." Sam said without looking up. He could sense the concern from his brother and smirked. "I'm good…mostly."

Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed Sam's bag and the first aid kit. "Get your pants up before Dave gets the wrong idea."

Sam chuckled and stood, wobbled and steadied himself as he got his jeans up and zipped them. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere not here." Dean said ruefully with a look out the hole in the back wall. "Gotta give Garth a call and let him know before he comes back here looking for us." He shouldered both bags and took his brother's arm. "Come on. We gotta shag ass before someone notices the new window."

Dean worked hard not to let on how heavily he was leaning on the railing to get Sam down the stairs in one piece and was grateful Dave was there to take Sam's weight while Dean went and dropped the rest of the bags in the car.

Sam opened his door and eased himself down in the seat. "Thanks, Dave. Really. That's twice you've saved my life and we haven't even officially been introduced. Sam. And I'm REALLY happy to meet you." He stuck out his hand and smiled up at the man's dour face and saw the hint of a smile before the older man grasped his hand briefly, rolled his eyes, and stepped away muttering something that sounded like 'Don't mention it.'

"I'll call Garth on the road." Dean said to Dave over the Impala's roof. "You following?" He fully expected the man to go his own way as Hunters weren't generally big on co-op, but, to his surprise, Dave nodded and Dean grinned as he climbed behind the wheel. "I like that guy." He gunned the engine and pulled out of the motel as the first fat raindrops landed on the windshield.

Sam rolled his head onto the seat behind him. "I'm tired of being tired." He ran a hand over his face and then held his newly aching shoulder. "When the hell does this stuff finally work out of my system?"

"Garth's checking into it." Dean gave him a worried look, not liking how drawn his face looked.

"Stop it." Sam said and smirked. "I can feel you staring. I'm fine."

"You're beat to hell and that bitch is still walkin'." Dean growled.

"You're not exactly a picture of health yourself." Sam snorted. "You realize there's a piece of glass or something stuck in the back of your right shoulder?" He rolled his eyes and sat up, reaching for it. "And you've just been walking around like that with no idea."

"Ow!" Dean yelped when Sam tugged it out of the back of his shoulder and held it up.

"Not glass." Sam turned it in the light. "I think maybe this was part of that ugly picture over the microwave." He tossed the bloodied piece of cheap metal into the back seat.

"Warn a guy, geez." Dean glared over at him. He didn't need reminding of just how many aches and pains were starting to make themselves known. Adrenaline was slowly fading from his system, and Dean started to worry about how hard he was going to crash when it was gone. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel as the rain started coming down in buckets. "You call Garth?"

'Yeah." Sam went for his pockets. "Dammit. No. I need a new phone."

Dean chuckled and pulled his out of his pocket, handing it over. "You're a mess."

"Shut up." Sam rolled his eyes and dialed Garth.

Dean put his attention on the road. The rain was truly pouring and killing visibility. It was afternoon but looked more like night with the storm blotting everything out. He checked the rearview and could barely make out Dave's truck behind them. The older Hunter had slowed to put room between them in the downpour. He stifled a moan of pain, listening to Sam talk to Garth and tightened his hands on the wheel again. Dean had thought he'd gotten off lucky with that two-story fall but, as the minutes went by, new pains were making themselves known. His head pounded, his shoulders were stiffening up, and something in his right leg was starting to become truly agonizing and making his foot twitch on the gas.

"Dean?" Sam closed the phone and looked over at his brother. "Are you alright?" Dean had paled while Sam watched, and he could see his jaw clenched in a tight line as he hunched over the wheel. "You don't look so good."

"What'd Garth say?" Dean asked instead, ignoring the question.

"Uh, motel on the other side of town." Sam leaned forward enough to get the map out of the glove box. "He says they have cabins. He's gonna rent us one since he's already over there."

Dean nodded. "Ok. Sounds good."

Sam shook his head. "Pull over and I'll drive."

"I'm fine." Dean said and gave him a look that clearly said 'no way in hell'.

"Dude, you're not." Sam sighed, trying for patience. "You were tossed out a second-story room. You're hurting. I can see it, so don't bother lying. Now let me drive already." He smirked. "Or do you really want to risk crashing your baby just 'cause you're stubborn?"

"I am NOT gonna crash my car, Sam. I'm good." Dean retorted through gritted teeth because the truth was, he wasn't so sure he was fine, and he was actually starting to consider pulling off and letting Sam have the wheel. However, his right leg chose that moment to ratchet the pain up and cramp. His foot spasmed on the gas pedal. The Impala jumped ahead through the driving rain and the tires lost their battle to hold on to the road as the car began to hydroplane. "Shit!" Dean shouted and tried to get back control, turning the wheel into the spin.

Sam slapped his hands out to the dash as the car began to spin out. The world did a dizzying spin in his head with nothing but rain and dim shapes to see through it out the windows and he braced himself as the Impala tipped down off the side of the road and came to rest in the ditch. "Shit!"

"Holy crap." Dean turned off the engine and leaned forward, putting his head on the wheel. "Ok. You can drive."

Sam stared and then gave a nervous, relieved laugh. "Timing is everything, dude." He awkwardly opened his door with his left hand. His right shoulder was still a mess of pain from the zombie's grip. "Slide over." He pushed it open and got out into rain sheeting into his face. Sam shoved the door closed before it soaked the passenger seat and used the body of the car to climb out of the ditch and up to the road. He waved wearily as Dave's truck pulled up and the older Hunter got out, lowering his ball cap against the downpour.

"Dave! You pull us out?" Sam asked as he reached the road, stumbled on the wet cement and smiled gratefully for Dave's hand keeping him on his feet.

"Yep." Dave looked in at Dean who had to uncurl from the wheel. "Figured he wasn't good to drive." He shrugged and ducked to the front of his truck and the winch there.

Sam snorted. "Wish one of you had said something." He went over and cracked the driver's side. "Dean? Dave's gonna pull us out. Just…sit tight."

"M'good." Dean said with all the energy he could muster…which wasn't much as he still hadn't moved and frankly wasn't sure how in hell he was going to get over to the passenger seat just then. Thankfully, Sam didn't make him, closing the door and Dean sighed.

Sam straightened, using the roof of the lopsided Impala to steady him on his now aching leg. He looked out over the car into the field beyond as the rain began to ease off and some of the world came back into focus. He frowned, seeing two dark shapes twenty or thirty yards out; cars. "Huh. Dave?" Sam waited for the man to look up and pointed as he went around to the trunk and eased back down into the ditch and up the other side.

Dave scowled and hopped down beside the kid, following him up into the field. He pulled a machete from a sheath on his back and nodded when Sam drew a gun. "Don't look like they belong there, do they?"

Sam shook his head. "No. Could just be an old wreck."

"Not that far out." Dave took the lead as the kid was obviously still hurting, limping through the tall weeds. If it'd been anyone else, Dave would have told him to go the hell back but Garth had sworn that even half-unconscious, either one of the Winchesters made better back up than any three men put together. He shrugged; who was he to argue.

Sam squinted, wiping rain from his eyes. "Those aren't old."

Dave shook his head and a sick feeling washed over him. He groaned. "Aw shit. I know these cars." He lowered his machete as they cleared the weeds and he took his cap off with a snarl of anger and threw it. "That BITCH!"

"Whose are they?" Sam asked gently, recognizing the rage and grief on the older man's face.

"Manny. Joe." Dave snarled it.

Sam's heart fell; the other two men who had helped save him from the mambo. Somehow, she'd gotten them. He shook his head and started toward the nearest car. He didn't even remember them; had never woken up before they'd left. He eased around the driver's side of the nearer car and pulled the door open. Blood was splashed across the dash and the seat but there was no body. He gritted his teeth and staggered over to the other car, pulling that door open and finding the same. Sam turned back to Dave with a grim look.

Dave nodded. He could see it on the kid's face plain as day. "That mambo bitch. She's usin' 'em. Ain't she?"

Sam nodded. There was little point in trying to sugar coat it for the man. His friends were gone and there was really only one reason the mambo would take them. "Dave…I'm sorry. I…" Sam stopped and spun toward the Impala.

"What?" Dave frowned and watched Sam. Kid looked like he was a dog, scenting something.

Sam shook his head and started back toward the car as a sense of something 'wrong' came over him and danger. "Dean." He broke into the fastest run he was capable of with his heart in his throat and his eyes fixed on the trunk of the Impala, visible over the weeds from the ditch. "Dean!"

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_To Be Continued… _


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Little Bit of Mambo

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Zombies in the south. Sounds like fun until the bodies start dropping…and rising back up. Post 8x13 "Everybody Hates Hitler" the usual hurt/comfort/awesome!boys

Author's Note: This story keeps going in strange directions when I'm not looking. So, this is what happens when I write without a plan…Sammy does a lot of bleeding and little else gets accomplished. LOL

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

_****Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!**__**  
**__**~Reviews are Love~**_

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_Dave shook his head and a sick feeling washed over him. He groaned. "Aw shit. I know these cars." He lowered his machete as they cleared the weeds and he took his cap off with a snarl of anger and threw it. "That BITCH!"_

_"Whose are they?" Sam asked gently, recognizing the rage and grief on the older man's face._

_"Manny. Joe." Dave snarled it._

_Sam's heart fell; the other two men who had helped save him from the mambo. Somehow, she'd gotten them. He shook his head and started toward the nearest car. He didn't even remember them; had never woken up before they'd left. He eased around the driver's side of the nearer car and pulled the door open. Blood was splashed across the dash and the seat but there was no body. He gritted his teeth and staggered over to the other car, pulling that door open and finding the same. Sam turned back to Dave with a grim look._

_Dave nodded. He could see it on the kid's face plain as day. "That mambo bitch. She's usin' 'em. Ain't she?"_

_Sam nodded. There was little point in trying to sugar coat it for the man. His friends were gone and there was really only one reason the mambo would take them. "Dave…I'm sorry. I…" Sam stopped and spun toward the Impala._

_"What?" Dave frowned and watched Sam. Kid looked like he was a dog, scenting something._

_Sam shook his head and started back toward the car as a sense of something 'wrong' came over him and danger. "Dean." He broke into the fastest run he was capable of with his heart in his throat and his eyes fixed on the trunk of the Impala, visible over the weeds from the ditch. "Dean!"_

**Chapter 8**

Dean groaned with feeling now that he was alone in the car and wondered how the hell he'd even gotten up off the ground with this many aches and pains. "Shit." He whispered and listened to Sam and Dave's voices moving away over the sound of the rain thrumming on the roof in an almost soothing white noise. He pushed back from the wheel and considered just letting gravity take him over to Sam's side of the car. He snorted and shook his head. It'd just hurt like hell when he slid into the door.

"Dammit." Dean's right leg was still twitching with pain. He leaned his head back on the seat and took firm hold of the wheel again. He let himself slowly slid down the seat backwards, trying to control the slide with the wheel but his left shoulder protested the added weight, folded and he thumped into the passenger door with a grunt of pain and his legs stretched over the seat. "Ow." It felt like every muscle and joint was stiffening by the second. Dean tried to bend his right leg and get it over, moaned as it burned and left it. "Screw it." He gasped and closed his eyes as his head dropped back to the window. "Sam can move me."

Dean reached up to rub his left shoulder, hissing between his teeth as his own hand amped up the pain. "Walk if off, dammit." He told himself and opened his eyes. He looked out the canted windshield and jerked in surprise. The rain was easing off and he could see the shadow of someone yards down the ditch from the car just standing there. "What the hell?" He knew what direction his brother and Dave had gone from their voices and a cold chill washed through him because if there was one zombie, there could be more.

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Sam stumbled on his freshly wounded leg but righted himself and ran on. "Dean!" He shouted over the still falling rain. He looked down at the car, slid down into the ditch and bumped into it, climbing quickly around the trunk and over to the driver's side. "Dean?" Sam wrenched the door open with a groan for his abused shoulder and his heart thudded in his chest; the car was empty. The window on the passenger side was rolled down and Sam, heedless of his injuries now, hopped up and slid across the hood down to the ditch and knelt. There were signs of a struggle or someone being dragged in the mud. "He's gone." Sam gasped it as Dave appeared at the top of the ditch and the rain picked up again.

Dave's face darkened with rage. "Nope. Not gonna happen." He jumped down into the ditch and pulled Sam upright. He wasn't losing Dean along with Manny and Joe. "You good?"

Sam nodded. "Go. Go." He gave Dave a shove down the gulley. "Drag marks go that way." He wanted to run off on his own but his landing in the ditch had jarred his freshly bleeding calf. He followed Dave as fast as he was able, settling for watching the man's back instead. "How the hell'd they get to him without us hearing anything?"

"Sam?" Dave called and raised his machete as a dark form rose up out of the ditch in front of him.

Sam jerked his head up and quickened his pace at the warning in Dave's tone. He blinked water out of his eyes and brought his gun up as another figure rose up between him and Dave. "Dave!" Sam shouted in warning and squeezed his finger on the trigger a moment before recognizing the familiar shape. At the same moment the shot rang out, going high as Sam pulled his hand up with sudden realization, he saw Dave spinning, instinctively bringing the machete around in a wide arc defensively, and his mouth opened, eyes widening and knowing he was too far away to stop his brother from being decapitated.

Dean was no pushover, however. He froze for just a second, then ducked under the swing of the older Hunter's arm, grabbed his wrist and twisted until the blade dropped. Dean caught it in his own hand and spun away out of range. "Shit! Could you guys TRY not to accidentally kill me?"

Dave sagged in shock and wiped a hand over his face. He was both impressed and a little concerned at how easily the obviously injured and weakened younger man had disarmed him. "Holy shit on a shingle, kid."

Dean waved at the figure still standing ahead of them and shambling closer. "You wanna?" He tossed Dave's machete back to him and then collapsed down to sit on the side of the ditch, not caring as mud and rain seeped into the ass of his jeans. He hurt too damn much.

"Dean." Sam went to his brother and put himself between him and the zombie Dave was even now dismembering with gusto. "What the hell happened?"

Dean watched Dave cheerfully hacking the zombie to pieces and groaned. "Saw the damn thing down in the ditch and you two'd wandered off. Nice, by the way. Give a guy a head's up next time, jackass." He glared up at his little brother. "So I climbed outta the car to go have a look." He wiped mud off his face and opted not to mention how his legs had refused to cooperate and he'd pretty much crawled along after the stupid thing with his gun out like a damn invalid. He'd made himself stand up when Dave had walked past just so no one would see him like that. His ego couldn't take it. He looked back up at his little brother and the little lift of Sam's left eyebrow and snarled because, clearly, Sam knew him well enough to read all that on his face without him saying it. "Shut up."

Sam smiled and instead put a shaking hand on his brother's shoulder, needing the physical reassurance that he hadn't actually shot him. "Really starting to hate this job." He said softly and nodded as Dave came back to them.

"I'll pull the car out. Stay." Dave said gruffly, still simmering with rage and worry over the loss of the other two Hunters.

Sam watched him go and turned to sit beside his brother. "There's two cars out in the field. They belong to Manny and Joe. The mambo has them."

"Son of a bitch!" Dean shouted and surged to his feet, only to groan, double over and let his brother ease him back to sitting. "They might not be dead."

Sam nodded. "Wherever they are. Whatever…condition…they're in, we'll find them, Dean." He said it with the fervent belief that they would. They each kept an eye out for more trouble while Dave used his truck to pull the Impala out of the ditch. They were sopping from the rain, aching and angry by the time they got back in the car.

Dean had called Garth while they waited and if anything, the guy was now even more driven to find the evil bitch. He shot a patented death glare at Sam as they settled in. "Don't wreck my baby."

Sam raised a brow and smirked over at his brother from behind the wheel. "Says the guy who put her in the ditch."

Dean scowled and turned his attention out the window, trying to ignore the pain he was in. He could have taken painkillers, but that would have meant sleeping and he couldn't afford it. The rain was thankfully not as heavy as it had been. Dean glanced over as the car slowed and saw his brother's head drooping. "Shit. Sam!" He slapped a hand into his brother's hip, about the only place he was sure wasn't injured.

Sam's head jerked up and he blinked furiously. "Wow. Sorry." He scowled angrily. "How is that crap still not out of my system?" He snorted and shook his head. "Maybe me driving wasn't the best idea, huh?"

Dean groaned and straightened in his seat. He stretched an arm over and put his hand behind his brother's head with a smirk, ignoring the steady throbbing pain in the shoulder. "I'll make sure you stay awake long enough." To demonstrate, he slapped a hand up the back of Sam's head "Jerk."

"Just stay awake, bitch." Dean chuckled.

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Garth stood in the door of the cabin he'd rented for the Winchesters and watched as the Impala rumbled up through the rain with Dave's truck right behind it. He frowned in concern because the car was going far slower than it needed to be for the little drizzle that was left of the rain. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw Sam was behind the wheel and, as he watched, the youngest Winchester parked the car and then slumped forward to rest his head on the wheel.

"Well, I could have told 'em _that_ was a bad idea." Garth rolled his eyes and jogged out to the car, pulled the driver's side door open and met the worried eyes of Sam's older brother across the seat. "You let him drive?"

"Didn't have much of a choice. I drove her into a ditch." Dean nudged his brother and sighed. "Last five minutes have pretty much been him trying to keep his eyes open and me slapping his head so he would." He leaned away from his brother with a groan and held his aching shoulder. "This has been one shit day, Garth."

"No kidding." Garth shook his head and smiled at Dave as the older man came up beside him. "Help me get the big guy inside."

Dave snorted. "Knew somethin' was up. Car kept weavin' and I saw him slapping this one upside the head." He chuckled and leaned into the car with Garth. It took both of them to pull Sam out and support his weight. He grunted as they pulled Sam between them toward the cabin.

Dean shoved his own door open and growled with the effort it took to stand. He watched his brother being dragged inside the cabin and shook his head. "Starting to understand why Dad never hunted a Bokor again." He said it ruefully, pushed his door shut, and made his body cooperate with him. He needed to know Sam was alright, and having him out of his sight after the last twenty-four hours was not helping his calm.

"Hang on. I'm comin'." Garth called cheerfully as he reappeared and jogged out.

Dean snarled at the man's cheeriness and ease of movement.

"I ain't scared of you." Garth chuckled and slid under Dean's right shoulder, ignoring the glare aimed at him. "You dislocate it?" He asked and nodded to Dean's left shoulder.

Dean shook his head. "Just jammed it up when I hit the ground. I'm good."

"Yeah. I can see that." Garth snorted and helped him into the cabin. "Sam's fine. Woke up again and fell asleep again."

Dean looked around the cabin when they entered and gave a small snort of amusement. It was someone's idea of Tex-Mex chic. There were pueblo looking blankets on the low couch and the floor in dizzying colors, tribal masks and animal heads over the walls and the beds at the back were covered in two of the craziest, crazy quilts he'd ever seen. "Someone was trippin' balls on something when they decorated this place."

Garth chuckled as they reached the beds and he helped Dean ease down to sit. "Beggars can't be choosers." He nodded to Dave who headed back outside and sat next to Sam. "The drug she used, I think I found it. It's a real nasty piece of work." He took his cap off and ran his fingers through his hair. "It's not lethal, but he's gonna be in and out for another couple days. No warning; just, one minute he'll be talkin' and the next you're tryin' to stop him crackin' his head on the floor."

"Awesome." Dean groaned and rubbed his shoulder. He stopped when he saw the look on Garth's face. "Why are you makin' aneurism face? What aren't you telling me?"

"It's how she found you at the motel." Garth looked down at Sam and back at Dean. "She'll find us here too. One of the ingredients of the drug is her blood. She can track him because she forced some of her blood into him." He reached over to Dean and flicked the lump of Momma Ava's charm under his shirt. "Bet money that's why she did it this way."

"Ok, how do we fix it then?" Dean waved a hand at Sam. "Gotta be a way." It made his skin crawl that once again some evil son of a bitch had force-fed blood to his little brother, and he looked fiercely over to Sam, still asleep and looking so damn helpless in spite of his size, it made Dean's teeth ache. "Garth."

"We can…" Garth put his cap back on with a silent prayer to its former owner for the strength he'd always seemed to have where hurt and pissed off Winchesters were concerned. "Ok, here's the deal. If we bleed enough out of him, it'll weaken her link to him, might even break it, and we can use the blood we take from Sam to turn around and track her." He said it like he was ripping a band-aid off and watched the anger darken Dean's face just as he'd been expecting. "It's either that or we work against the clock to try and find her first before she sends more zombies after us, Dean. I mean, we're gonna be doin' that anyway, 'cause Manny and Joe might still be alive. And even they're not…"

"Ok. Ok." Dean raised a hand to stop Garth and took a breath. "I get it. We're desperate, and that bitch is holding all the cards." He didn't like it. He hated it, actually, and the thought of purposefully bleeding his brother made him want to throw up, regardless of the reason. Dean swallowed and watched Sam's head roll toward him and sighed because he knew what Sam was going to say - Do it. "Let me tell him."

Garth nodded and stood. "Already got the cabin proofed." He shrugged. "Against everything but zombies. Workin' on that, by the way." He chuckled and left the brothers alone to get the things he'd already collected from his car.

Dean eased over to the other bed next to his brother and gave Sam's shoulder a shake. "Wake up, buddy."

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Dave straightened, sitting on the back of his truck as Garth came out. "How long 'til we find her?"

Garth looked at him, mildly surprised. "You're still here?" He'd figured Dave would take off on his own with Manny and Joe missing. He wouldn't have blamed him.

Dave shrugged and glanced at the cabin. "Even the best Hunters get their asses kicked sometimes." He looked back to Garth. "I ain't leavin' 'em." Garth had pointed out to him and Manny and Joe that they all owed their continued existence to Sam Winchester's sacrifice, and Dean's. He agreed. He'd tangled with enough demons over the years to have an idea just what he'd been saved from without ever being aware.

"Good. Gonna need you." Garth went to his car and pulled a box out of the back. "We're going to track the mambo through her blood."

"'Kay." Dave hopped off his tailgate. "Sounds good. How come you look like you swallowed somethin'?"

Garth rolled his eyes and smirked. "Her blood's inside Sam. Gotta get it out."

"Shit." Dave shook his head as they walked to the cabin. "These guys can't catch a damn break."

Garth nodded and saw that Dean had his brother sitting up and Sam had a firm hold of Dean's arm. "Hey, Sam."

"Garth, he's not ok." Sam said firmly and glared at the disgusted look on his brother's face. Dean had woken him and told him what had to happen. Sam was fine with it. It sucked, but it would potentially save two lives and more, so he was good. He'd taken Dean's left shoulder to sit up and his big brother had come close to passing out just from the touch. "Don't listen to him."

"You lyin' to me now, Dean?" Garth clucked his tongue and set his box on the end of Sam's bed.

Dave snorted. "Hell, I'd lie to ya too, just on principle. Come on, tough guy." It surprised him a little how quickly the Winchesters had wormed their way under his 'I hate people' shell, and he gave Dean a lopsided smile when the elder brother heard him mutter 'Christo' under his breath.

"Just checkin'." Dean snorted.

Dave pulled Dean up and out into the sitting room where he had better light. "Let's see it."

Sam smirked, watching Dave force his increasingly more irritated brother out of his shirts so he could get a look at his shoulder. He looked away to the box and the various tubes and things Garth was taking out of it and shivered a little. "We need to do this quick, Garth." Sam told him. "Those other Hunters don't have a lot of time."

"Won't take long." Garth nodded and took a clean set of sterile IV needles out. "Now would be a good time for you to fall asleep again."

Sam smiled and shoved his sleeves up in preparation. "I'm ok, Garth, though I was sort of hoping I was done donating blood for a while."

So had Garth. Half the paraphernalia in the box was a transfusion kit he knew he was going to need because the simple fact was, Sam had already lost way to much blood in the last twenty-four hours and they were going to have to replace some of that or risk losing him. He marveled at Sam, able to smile after all of this, but then reminded himself that, in comparison, the kid had had far worse.

"Stop looking like you're my executioner, dude." Sam laughed and took the rubber tie Garth had in his hand, quickly tying it around his own arm above the elbow. "I'll be fine. Dean's the one you have to watch. Probably broke his spleen or something in that fall and isn't fessing up to it."

"I heard that!" Dean yelled and then yelled again in pain when, without warning, Dave took hold of his shoulder and shoved the joint back into place. It _had_ been dislocated.

Sam chuckled and let Garth take hold of his arm. "I can get the needle in."

"He's used to a little prick." Dean called and trying not to show just how much having his shoulder put back had hurt. He grinned when Sam gave him a bitch-face over Garth's shoulder and flipped his middle finger at him.

"I've got this. Just get comfy, Sam." Garth waited for him to lean back, not wanting him to have another narcolepsy episode and fall over while he was sticking needles in him.

Sam sat up against the wall behind the bed and tried to relax while Garth set a large mason jar on the floor, put the other end of the tubing into it and pressed the large needle into his elbow. He grimaced, closing his eyes, and knew the moment he felt the bed dip on his other side that it was Dean before his brother's hand landed on his neck in his age-old gesture of comfort. "I'm ok."

"I know you are." Dean watched the blood start to flow and met Garth's eyes. "You're sure about this?"

"Completely." Garth smiled, nodded and deftly moved out of range of Dean's fists because hurting Sam, even to help him, was never a good idea when Dean was around. "This will work. Trust me."

Dean scowled but had no other choice. He eased back against the wall beside his brother and got comfortable. "Well? Hook me up. He's gonna need it."

Sam let his head drop back. "The mambo did a little talking while she…while she had me." He shook his head. "She said Momma Ava used to be a Bokor mambo, that that's where she learned how to make our charms."

"You know, that doesn't really surprise me." Dean sighed. "Knew there was a reason I didn't wanna drink her lemonade."

Sam snorted. "She's good now, dude. I mean, probably. Hell, I don't know anymore. Still bet you'd take a chance on her pie, though." He groaned as a wave of dizziness went through him and swallowed hard. "Um…you should…someone should get a bucket."

"Fun with blood loss." Dave commented from the other room and grabbed the little trashcan by the door. "My favorite part."

"Thanks." Garth took it from him and handed it to Sam.

"I pass out again…don't let me choke to death." Sam hugged the basket to him with his free arm.

Dean wanted to tease him about it, he really did, but one look at his brother's miserable, pale face took the humor out of him, so he put his right hand on the back of Sam's neck again. "Just breathe through it, buddy."

Sam tried but the nausea won and he hunched over the bucket, heaving nothing but bile with Dean keeping him up on one side and Garth on the other. It passed thankfully fast and he slumped back, letting his head thump into the wall with his eyes closed. He couldn't help the shudder as he felt his blood leaving him again, this time through the needle in his arm. The now familiar weakness spread through him and he jerked in a moment of panic as the drug pulled him under again.

"Easy." Dean grabbed his brother and looked at Garth. "Hook me up now, dude." Not for the first time, Dean was beyond thankful they shared a blood type. He didn't want to consider the nightmare of trying to explain Sam's injuries and blood loss to a hospital.

Garth took the bucket from Sam's arms as he passed out again and set it aside and moved around the bed to Dean. He looked over to Dave who gave a nod and slipped outside with the silent order to keep them safe. "Hope you ate your Wheaties this morning, Dean." Garth smiled and took Dean's arm. Inwardly, he hated himself a little for sending them on this job. He knew what Dean would say; people were dying and someone had to kill the bitch, but it didn't stop the guilt from choking him as he looked at the brothers, bruised, bloodied, battered, and still taking a desperate chance to save two other Hunters they barely knew. Garth marveled at them. Being a Winchester was pretty damn impressive.

"Stop smilin' at me, Garth. It's creepy." Dean rolled his eyes while Garth chuckled at him. "Top Sam up with a pint or two of awesome, and then let's find this bitch."

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_To Be Continued… _


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Little Bit of Mambo

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Zombies in the south. Sounds like fun until the bodies start dropping…and rising back up. Post 8x13 "Everybody Hates Hitler" the usual hurt/comfort/awesome!boys

Author's Note: Wrote this chapter with my Muse kicking and screaming while I tried to make her pay attention. Lol sorry for the delay, kids. :D Also a thank you to my AbFab Beta for suggesting the transfusion complications and giving me yet more ways to torment our boys. HAhaha

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

_****Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!**__**  
**__**~Reviews are Love~**_

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"_Easy." Dean grabbed his brother and looked at Garth. "Hook me up now, dude." Not for the first time, Dean was beyond thankful they shared a blood type. He didn't want to consider the nightmare of trying to explain Sam's injuries and blood loss to a hospital._

_Garth took the bucket from Sam's arms as he passed out again and set it aside and moved around the bed to Dean. He looked over to Dave who gave a nod and slipped outside with the silent order to keep them safe. "Hope you ate your Wheaties this morning, Dean." Garth smiled and took Dean's arm. Inwardly, he hated himself a little for sending them on this job. He knew what Dean would say; people were dying and someone had to kill the bitch, but it didn't stop the guilt from choking him as he looked at the brothers, bruised, bloodied, battered, and still taking a desperate chance to save two other Hunters they barely knew. Garth marveled at them. Being a Winchester was pretty damn impressive._

"_Stop smilin' at me, Garth. It's creepy." Dean rolled his eyes while Garth chuckled at him. "Top Sam up with a pint or two of awesome, and then let's find this bitch."_

**Chapter 9**

Dean squirmed with the needle in his arm as the tubing pulled and Garth worked at getting the other end into his brother's free arm. "Dude, hurry up already."

"Workin' on it." Garth scowled, sliding the needle into the bend of Sam's elbow a second time and having to draw it back out. "Uh….no, it's ok. I got this."

"Garth?" Dean leaned over. "You're poking him full of holes. What the hell?"

"I can't…dammit." Garth cursed and leaned back. "The vein collapsed. Just…hang on." Fear won out with Sam's blood still flowing out and Dean's not going in to replace it. "Stay." He stood and ran outside. "Dave! Get in here!" He ran back inside and tried to find a calm face for Dean. "Dave was an army medic, good one too. Dave!" Garth waved the older man over as he reentered the cabin.

"What'd you do now?" Dave growled and strode to the bed, looking at the multiple holes in Sam's arm and shook his head.

"Gimme the damn thing. I'll get it in." Dean ordered and snarled as Dave ignored him.

"No, you won't. Ain't nothing there to tap." Dave took the needle and moved up to Sam's head. He turned the boy's head and felt along the side of his throat, nodded, and slid the needle home with a steady hand. "Tape."

Garth picked up the surgical tape and handed it over, watching while Dave taped the needle in place and ran calloused fingers along the line connecting the brothers, ticking over the little portable pump. Garth blew out a breath in relief, silently thanking whatever gods or angels or whatever may have been listening that Dave had stayed. He knew that, without the medic on hand, there was a good chance his plan would have ended up killing Sam.

"Good to go." Dave nodded and started Dean's blood moving to his brother. He put two fingers to the pulse in Sam's neck and sighed. "Weaker than I like. Watch him." He looked over to Dean and rolled his eyes. "Watch him too."

"Dude, I'm good. You take as much as he needs." Dean smirked and settled next to Sam. "Thanks, man."

"I charge extra for that." Dave quipped, surprising both men as he turned and left them alone again.

"Pretty sure that man's talked more in the last day than in the last five years I've known him." Garth chuckled and shook his head. "I think he's sweet on you."

"You can shut up now." Dean snorted and leaned back as a wave of dizziness washed through him. "Damn."

"Dean?"

"Dizzy all o'sudden." Dean closed his eyes as the room spun and felt himself drifting to sleep.

When Dean finally opened his eyes again, it felt more like a long blink than sleeping, and he jerked in surprise to find Garth leaning over his head and Dave straddling his legs, in the process of climbing off. "Wha's goin' on?"

"Dean?" Garth took a steadying breath and tried to find his calm. "How are you feeling?"

Dean shook his head and then groaned. "Shit. Why do I hurt everywhere? What happened? How'd you…I just closed my eyes." He was drowning in confusion enough that he didn't react when Garth blew out a clearly relieved breath and brushed a hand over the top of his head like he was a sick child before leaning away.

Garth stood back up and gave the man his personal space. "You uh…you had a little seizure."

"Convulsions." Dave said bluntly and shrugged. "Don't happen often with transfusions." He slapped Dean's booted foot. "Probably not the best idea transfusin' you injured."

"I had a seizure?" Dean pushed slowly up, realizing he was lying down and tried to raise his right hand but Garth leaned in and pushed it back down.

"You're still connected. Careful." Garth warned him and helped him to slide up against the wall and sit. "Just rest for a few minutes."

Dean nodded and looked down at his brother, still unconscious, and carefully slid his hand over to rest on Sam's chest so he could feel his heart beating. "We're havin' a hell of a week here, Sammy." He said softly and closed his eyes wearily.

Twenty minutes later, Dean still sat against the wall on his brother's bed with a hand resting on Sam's chest over his heart. Garth knelt on the other side of the bed and pulled the needle from Sam's arm and taped a wad of gauze over the small hole. Dean looked down at the line connecting him to his brother's neck wearily. He was tired with blood loss and about to suggest it was time to unhook him as well when it struck him - the weak but steady thrum under his right hand had stopped.

"Shit! Sammy?" Dean knelt on the bed over his brother and checked for a pulse again at his throat while terror clawed into him.

"Dean?" Garth's eyes went wide and he took Sam's wrist, sucking in a breath. "Oh, God."

"No, no, no. Don't you do this!" Dean, heedless of the pain it drove into his left shoulder, thumped his fist on Sam's chest over his heart, felt for a pulse and did it again. "Dave! Get Dave!" He shouted and didn't look up to see Garth running for the door once more. "Come on, Sammy." Dean sobbed it and got both hands together, careful not to dislodge the tube feeding his blood into his brother as he started chest compressions.

"Get off him already." Dave ordered brusquely as he reached the bed and bodily shoved Dean aside to lean over Sam. "Gonna crack his ribs you keep that up."

Dean snarled but sat back while Dave checked his brother over. He frowned in confusion when the older man grabbed his arm and took his hand. "What…"

"Make a fist. Gotta get the blood movin' faster. He's lost too much, that's all." Dave opened Dean's hand and closed it again, watching the blood move faster out of the older Winchester. "Like that. Keep going."

Dean nodded, frantically watching Dave's steady hands and the man's face until finally he looked up and gave Dean a nod and tight smile. "Oh, thank God." Dean breathed.

"Breathin' too. He's alright." Dave wiped a hand over his face and pushed Dean back. "Sit. You're gonna be damn dizzy in a minute or three. Shit, you two are gonna gimme grey hair."

"Too late." Dean quipped, breathless and a little giddy with relief as he put his hand back on his brother's chest and felt his heart beating again like it should be. He looked over at Garth's pale face and shook his head. "Next time you come up with a good idea, I'm punchin' you in the face just because. Fair warning."

Garth raised his hands and smiled thinly. "I'll take it." He couldn't possibly feel any worse about his bright idea seeing what it had done to both men.

Dave slid his fingers around Dean's wrist, counting the beats and keeping time in his head and let him go. "Five more minutes and you're done." He said gruffly. "Or it's just gonna be me and Garth goin' after the guys."

Dean opened his mouth to argue as Dave walked away and closed it, thinking better of it. "Alright." It was killing him too, the knowledge that every minute Manny and Joe were missing, unspeakable things could be happening to them. "Break out that juice you bought, man." Dean looked over at Garth and hoped he didn't look as nauseous as he felt. They had a job to do.

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Sam groaned and tried to get his eyes open. He hurt everywhere was the first thing that came to him followed by the fact his mouth felt like the inside of a tumble dryer and his head was pounding. He blinked finally and stared up at a wood ceiling, hearing the sound of rain hitting the roof and voices nearby. "Dean?" Sam croaked and coughed, trying to clear his throat or swallow, neither of which worked as parched as he was.

"Shit. Sammy?"

Sam sighed with his brother's voice because, if Dean was there, then he wasn't still tied up in the mambo's basement. He saw Dean come into view, face creased in worry. "Hey."

"Hey, Sam. Hang on." Dean grabbed the bottle of orange juice he'd left on the side table and slid his other hand behind his brother's head, lifting him up. "Small sips, dude."

Sam nodded and managed to fumble a hand up to hold it himself. He took several swallows before Dean pulled it away and Sam lay back, letting it wet his dry mouth and throat. "M'alright?"

Dean smiled and set his brother's head back. "Yeah. You're good." He kept the easy smile on his face and opted not to tell Sam how his heart had stopped beating at one point; both he and Garth underestimating just how much blood Sam had lost and the frantic minute it had taken them to get him back. Dean still felt a little light-headed himself. He'd given more blood to his brother than planned after that and took a swig from the juice himself before setting it aside. "How you feel?"

"Fuzzy and..."He rubbed a hand over his chest. "…chest hurts." Sam pulled his arms in and worked to push himself up, letting Dean help until he was sitting. "Tell me we know where she is."

"Garth's narrowing it down now." Dean nodded. "You're gonna stay here while we go…"

"No way in hell." Sam said fiercely. "You're not leaving me behind and don't think I can't see you're as pale as I am and _you're _going." He swung his legs over the side of the bed, pushing Dean out of the way and glared up at him. "I'm going. End of discussion." He took a breath, letting the spinning in his head settle and met his brother's angry gaze again. "Dean. Those guys…they saved my ass, both our asses. I owe it to them and I'm coming. I can't just leave them to her." He whispered the last and stared miserably at the floor. "I won't."

Dean deflated and rolled his eyes, dropping to sit on the other bed. "Fine. But I even _think_ you're gonna fall over, I will lock your ass in the trunk and leave you there."

Sam snorted. "Same goes."

"If you two are done huggin' it out, I think Garth found her." Dave called and gave a lopsided grin to the twin scowls that met him.

Garth shook his head. "Dave, you are living dangerously," he muttered and chuckled, smothering it as Dean pulled his brother up and steered him to the couch. "You sure you should be up already, Sam?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Sam sat next to him. "Garth, thanks." He looked at the bowl and symbols drawn on the table and swallowed knowing the viscous red stuff in the bowl was his blood. "Where is she?"

"Don't worry about this." Garth tapped the bowl. "We burned the rest of the blood we drained from you and this isn't enough for her to track you." He held a map out and pointed to a spot a few miles from the house they'd destroyed. "She should be right about here."

Dean looked over his shoulder and smiled grimly. "Let's go get this bitch."

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"Anyone else feel a little weird creeping up in broad daylight?" Garth asked with a smirk as the four men waded through ankle-deep bayou behind the house where they hoped to find the mambo.

"Feel better about it if we didn't have to wade through the damn swamp." Dean picked his right foot up, unsticking it from the mud underneath the water. He kept his eyes to his left on his little brother and noticed with surprise that he wasn't the only one. Dave was beyond Sam and clearly ready to snatch at his struggling little brother if he went down. He shook his head and decided Dave was definitely good people.

Sam was struggling, exhausted from being drained not once but twice in twenty-four hours and wanted nothing more than to collapse back in bed at the cabin and not move for a month. He took a deep breath and kept moving, though. He owed it to Manny and Joe. It still stung that they could die after saving him without him ever being able to say thank you. He tightened his grip on his machete and picked up his pace. "I'm fine, Dean." Sam said, feeling his brother's eyes on him without having to look over.

Dean rolled his eyes at being caught. "Whatever, bitch." Garth held up a hand ahead of them and they silenced, now near enough the house their voices would carry. Dean moved a little closer to his brother and swept his eyes around the drooping bayou trees, expecting an army of zombies to ride out at them. Dave had his flame thrower strapped to his back again just for that event, but, so far…nothing. "I don't like this," he whispered.

Dave shook his head. The silence was making him nervous. He looked through the trees and could just see the back of the house. He looked over to Garth and then grunted in surprise as his feet were yanked out from under him and he splashed into the water on his back. "SHIT!" He scrambled back, trying to free his right arm and the machete as he got his head back into the open air and his eyes opened wide as a zombie rose dripping over him and reached for his throat. Dave couldn't get his arm free. The mud held on to it with a frustrating suction and he realized he was going to die, just like that…and then, just like that, the zombie was gone, bowled to the side as Sam Winchester tackled it away from him and into the water.

Dean was there an instant later and took Dave's shoulder, pulling the man up from the sucking mud with a growl before he went after his brother. "Sam! Move!"

Sam heard Dean and rolled to the side, out of the way and turned back in time to watch the sweep of Dean's machete take the zombie's head from its shoulders before it could get back up. He slumped back for a moment under the weight of exhaustion and wiped mud and water from his face. "Dave? You alright?"

"Yeah." Dave bent over Sam and took one arm while Dean grabbed the other and pulled the man back to his feet. Dave kept hold of him as Sam swayed and steadied him while Dean watched the water around them with wary eyes. "Thanks."

"Think we…blew the element…of surprise." Sam said breathlessly.

"That thing still gonna work?" Dean looked over at Dave and nodded to the tank still on his back.

Dave nodded. "Shit yes. Been dumped in the drink before." He reached back and pulled the nozzle free, clicked a switch and a spark blew out the end of the igniter, followed by a small flame. He smiled. "Go get her. I got your six."

Dean nodded and clapped him on the shoulder then took Sam's arm and gave him a pull. "Come on. You good?"

"I'm good." Sam shoved his hair out of his face and waded up to the back of the house with Garth and his brother, climbing the bank and went to the side of a door in the back of the house. He wished they could just go in and burn the place down but with Manny and Joe likely inside somewhere, they couldn't risk it without getting them out first. Dave watched them go and shook his head. Garth was right – even injured and weakened, the Winchester brothers were a serious force to be reckoned with.

"She's gonna have more super zombies in there." Garth commented and checked the swing of his own blade before grinning at Dean. "Didn't get to 'Garth' enough of 'em yesterday."

Dean chuckled and looked back at Dave, standing now at the corner of the house and gave him a nod before looking back. "Let's go kick some undead ass."

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_To Be Continued… _


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Little Bit of Mambo

Author: Disasteriffic Kaz

Info: Zombies in the south. Sounds like fun until the bodies start dropping…and rising back up. Post 8x13 "Everybody Hates Hitler" the usual hurt/comfort/awesome!boys

Author's Note: Finally! Last chapter! Hope you've all enjoyed the ride. Now, I just have to decide what to start next. What'd I do with my Muse?

Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.

_****Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!**__**  
**__**~Reviews are Love~**_

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"_Think we…blew the element…of surprise." Sam said breathlessly._

"_That thing still gonna work?" Dean looked over at Dave and nodded to the tank still on his back._

_Dave nodded. "Shit yes. Been dumped in the drink before." He reached back and pulled the nozzle free, clicked a switch and a spark blew out the end of the igniter, followed by a small flame. He smiled. "Go get her. I got your six."_

_Dean nodded and clapped him on the shoulder then took Sam's arm and gave him a pull. "Come on. You good?"_

"_I'm good." Sam shoved his hair out of his face and waded up to the back of the house with Garth and his brother, climbing the bank and went to the side of a door in the back of the house. He wished they could just go in and burn the place down but with Manny and Joe likely inside somewhere, they couldn't risk it without getting them out first. Dave watched them go and shook his head. Garth was right – even injured and weakened, the Winchester brothers were a serious force to be reckoned with._

"_She's gonna have more super zombies in there." Garth commented and checked the swing of his own blade before grinning at Dean. "Didn't get to 'Garth' enough of 'em yesterday."_

_Dean chuckled and looked back at Dave, standing now at the corner of the house and gave him a nod before looking back. "Let's go kick some undead ass."_

**Chapter 10**

Dean turned the knob on the door and shook his head finding it unlocked. He'd have felt less like they were walking into a trap if he'd had to at least pick the damn lock. He pushed it open and stepped inside with Garth at his back and Sam bringing up the rear. It was bigger than it looked from outside, stretching out away from the bayou. The light were on and illuminated what might once have been a welcoming cabin but now was a grizzly testament to the macabre woman who had taken up residence. The floors and walls were splattered in blood, and crude symbols, also in blood, were scrawled everywhere they could see.

"Not exactly Better Homes and Gardens is it?" Garth said facetiously as he looked around. He narrowed his eyes, studying the symbols on the walls. "Don't think I like the look of these."

Sam nodded, doing the same and pointed to the far wall. "Those are…"

"Yeah. Possession, and that one's…"

"Containment. What the hell's she doing up here?" Sam wondered softly.

Garth shook his head. "Nothing good. Dean…" He looked over, eyes blowing wide. "Dean, stop!" He threw a hand out but it was too late as the elder Winchester's foot stepped into a circle of symbols on the floor.

Dean felt as though he'd stepped on a live wire. A current passed up through his foot and he distantly heard his brother calling his name as his whole body convulsed, and then the agony mercifully took everything away into blackness.

Sam lunged ahead and grabbed his brother's arm as Dean's involuntary scream of pain echoed in the house. He pulled Dean clear of the circle and went to the floor with him as Dean collapsed. "Dean? Dean!" Sam rolled his brother's face into his hand and checked for a pulse, dropping his head in abject relief when he found it.

"He's alright, Sam." Garth assured him. "That circle's only meant to knock people out, not kill 'em."

Sam's head came up as the sound of a man screaming echoed up through the floor and he scowled, then looked back down at Dean. "She's in the cellar. Ok." He looked up and met Garth's eyes. "You keep him safe."

"Sam?" Garth stood hastily as Sam rose and took his arm. "You can't just go down there alone! Dean would kill me!"

"They're gonna die, Garth. I can't let that happen." Sam hefted his machete and pulled the gun from the small of his back.

"Then I'll go with…" Garth trailed off uncertainly, seeing the expression on Sam's face.

"We are NOT leaving him here unprotected. She wants me. I'm gonna give her what she wants. You take care of him. " He leaned in and lowered his voice in case something was listening. "Once they're clear, I expect the cavalry to come running." Sam gave him a worried smile.

Garth ran a hand under his ball cap as Sam strode to the other side of the house and the stairs there, stepping carefully around the circles on the floor. "Dammit, Sam." He looked down at Dean and groaned. "He's gonna kill me. I'm gonna die. That's all there is to it." Garth knelt by the older man and gave him a shake. "Ok, Dean. Time to wake up."

Sam gave a last look back at his brother and Garth and then descended out of sight down the stairs. A curtain hung across a small door, and Sam took a deep breath to steady himself before grabbing hold and ripping it aside. "Shit," he breathed at the sight that greeted him. Like the room upstairs, symbols and circles were scrawled in blood everywhere. The mambo stood off to his left with a satisfied smile beside another altar, and, across from him, Manny and Joe, bloodied, wounded, yet still alive hung in the grip of the zombies, two each holding them up. Sam dropped his machete and took careful aim at the mambo's head as he stepped into the room. "Let them go."

"Sam." The mambo rolled her eyes and tipped the hood back from her face, letting her blonde hair tumble free into the light. She smiled. "Tell me, who did my trap get upstairs? It sounded painful."

"My brother." Sam growled angrily and tightened his grip on the pistol's grip, aching to pull the trigger for that reason alone. He didn't. A closer look at Manny and Joe showed that both men were held up by the zombies' fingers dug into their ribs, as they had done to Sam and he knew it would take only a twitch of their hands to burst their chests apart. "Let them go," Sam said firmly and aimed steadily at her head. "Let them go and you can have me."

The mambo looked at the weapon pointed at her head and the hard eyes of the man holding it. "Take off the charm."

"Them first." Sam shook his head.

"Take it off and you can have them." She smiled.

Sam laughed darkly. "I take it off and you kill them anyway. No thanks."

"I'll give you one and then you can take it off. A show of good faith." The mambo waved a hand at the men. "Perhaps the one already missing an arm?"

Sam studied the two men with a twist of guilt in his gut. Joe was indeed short his left arm below the elbow. As he watched, Joe's head rose up slightly to look at him through pain-filled eyes.

"Leave us." Joe whispered it.

"S'right." Manny shook his head without even looking up. "We're…done. Get…get the hell out."

Sam looked away and back to the mambo. "Anytime you want to start paying attention, that'd be nice. Them first and then you can have me, or…" Sam took a step closer to her, "…I just kill you now."

The mambo glared at him. "Then they die. My zombies will tear their chests out before my body hits the floor."

"They're gonna die anyway if they stay." Sam shook his head. "At least this way it'll be fast. I'm done talking." He aimed square between her eyes and cocked the hammer back.

The mambo's eyes widened fearfully as she saw the truth of it in his eyes and her death riding behind it. "Fine! Alright. They're free." She flicked her fingers.

The zombies holding the two men drew their fingers from their chests. Manny and Joe crumpled to the earthen floor with twin groans of pain. Sam shifted slightly to his left so he could see them and her. "Get out of here." Sam ordered as Manny's head rose up to look at him. "Take him and go. Now."

"Sam." Manny shook his head even while he wrapped an arm around Joe and pulled the ailing man to his feet. "We can't just…"

"No. No." Joe chanted and looked between Sam and the zombies. "Can't leave him here. No way."

"This is not up for debate! Go, dammit!" Sam yelled it at them and took another step closer to the mambo so their way was clear, making sure his aim never wavered from her head. He looked back at the mambo and pulled the charm from under his shirt with his free hand as the men moved behind him.

Manny got Joe to the stairs and stopped for a last look at Sam's back, standing tall and seemingly unafraid between them and the mambo. He turned away and pulled Joe up the stairs, making a silent vow that Sam Winchester was not going to die for them…again.

"No. Manny…" Joe cradled his missing arm to his chest and twisted to get a last glimpse of Sam. "We can't." It was killing him leaving Sam down there like that, however willing the guy was to save them.

"We're not leavin' him." Manny whispered fiercely as they neared the top of the stairs. "Get you outta here and I am comin' back for him. Move."

"Well, Sam?" The mambo smiled at him. "Bad things happen to those who give their word to a mambo and break it."

Sam nodded. He knew that. He took a deep breath, lowered his gun, and pulled the charm until the thong snapped free from around his neck. "Alright." He tossed it to the floor with a sinking feeling as she began to chuckle softly and raised her hands.

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Dean opened his eyes with a grimace as every muscle in his body seemed to be protesting some sort of abuse and found Garth leaned over him. "Dude…back…back up."

Garth grinned at Dean's hoarse voice and patted his shoulder. "How do you feel?"

Dean shook his head. "Sam?" He saw a dark look pass over Garth's face and frowned. "Garth, where's my brother?"

"He, uh…well, Sam…" Garth faltered and took Dean's arm, helping him to sit.

"He's down there with her."

Dean looked up at the new voice and saw Manny half-carrying Joe across the floor toward them. They were both bloodied, and Dean sucked in a shocked breath, seeing that Joe was missing half an arm. "What do you mean 'with her'?"

Manny didn't miss the dangerous tone in the man's voice as they neared. "He traded himself for us. Told him to just leave us, but he wouldn't."

"Don't walk in the circles," Garth said quickly, pointing, and nodded when Manny stopped at the edge of one and steered Joe around the edge.

Dean staggered to his feet and retrieved his machete from the floor. "Get them outta here," he ordered Garth and started for the stairs with rage simmering up inside him. He broke into a run as the first, agonized cry came up from below. "Sammy!"

Joe took his own weight from Manny and shook his head. "Go. I'm good. Go."

Manny looked at him swaying there and then nodded. "Garth." He pulled Garth's machete from his hand. "You take Joe. I'm doing this."

"Now, hold on just a…" Garth started, but Manny was already following Dean. "Dammit! Alright. Here." He slid under Joe's good arm and pulled him to the door. "Dave's out here."

"Dave's still here, man?" Joe asked in surprise and nodded wearily. "S'good. He's good guy. Don't talk m-much."

"You'd be surprised." Garth said and leaned Joe against the door then stuck his head out. "Dave! Get over here!"

Dave turned and jogged along the back of the house, his heart lightening marginally when he saw Joe there. "Manny?"

"Going after Sam with Dean." Garth reached to Joe's waist and pulled the man's blade free. "Watch him."

"Sam traded….traded himself. For us." Joe said and cringed when Sam screamed again from below. "God dammit!"

"Shit." Dave hitched the flamethrower higher on his shoulder and watched Garth run back into the house and out of sight. He wanted to go in with him and pull the kid out himself. He didn't. He took Joe's remaining arm and pulled him out because Sam had paid for the guy's life and Dave was going to make damn sure it wasn't in vain, no matter what happened.

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Sam crumpled as the mambo curled her fingers and blood began to flow from every wound on his body and, thanks to the last two days, they were many. He cried out, unable to hold the pain back as he hit the floor. "Bitch!" He gasped it as the gun slipped from his suddenly nerveless fingers.

"Well, we have a lot of blood to make up for, Sam, and not a lot of time to do it." The mambo said as though they were having a polite conversation. She curled her fingers and two of the zombies came off the wall, took up Sam's arms and lifted him between them so she could see his shirts and jeans now colored with his own blood, his skin so pale already, but his eyes as he raised his head to meet hers glowed with hatred. She flicked her fingers again, and the other two zombies made for the stairs. "We'll need a bit more time, I think."

Sam managed to turn his head just enough to see the zombies pass and start up the stairs, but they stopped only a few steps up. "What…" He gasped as they reached up, shoving their arms into the wall and foundation and pulled it down, collapsing the stairs. Sam saw Dean's legs, and then they were gone as the zombies buried themselves in the wreckage. When the roar finally faded, he looked back at the mambo and resignation flowed through him. "I am so screwed," he said softly and let his head fall as his blood continued to flow sluggishly from his many wounds.

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"NO!" Dean screamed it in a fury as he saw two zombies pull the stairs down around them and cut him off from his brother. "Not again!" He fought the hands that grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back as wood and plaster rained around him.

"Dean! Can't save him like this!" Manny shouted in the distraught man's ear as he bodily hauled him back up the stairs. "We'll find another way!"

Dean snarled and shook himself free of Manny's hands, stalking past Garth and then back to the stairs. "We can dig."

"She'd kill him long before we got to her." Garth shook his head, watching Dean stare down the ruined stairs as the man's eyes drew together and then looked over at him. "What?"

"Dig." Dean slapped Manny's shoulder and ran. "Come on!"

"What'd he figure out?" Manny asked and followed Garth to the door. "He figured something out. I can see it on his face. What?"

Garth shook his head and waited at the door for Manny to catch up. "Don't know yet. Dean!"

Dean ran outside and rounded the house away from the bayou, eyes on the ground. "We can dig, Garth!"

"Dean!"

Dean jerked his head up as Dave appeared from the front of the house and waved. "Think I know what'cher lookin' for!"

Dean nodded and ran. "Tunnel?"

"Tunnel." Dave nodded as Dean reached him and pointed out toward the road. "Right there. You see it?"

"Hell yeah." Dean grinned dangerously and saw the long, narrow indentation in the earth, outlined by the sun that ran from the house. "Knew that bitch wouldn't pull the roof down again without an out. We need to hurry."

"Got it covered." Dave took his arm and led him to where he'd already started digging. "Garth! Get yer skinny ass over here!" He shoved Dean toward a tree where Joe was sitting hunched over his amputated arm. "Me and Garth's the only ones ain't walkin' wounded. We'll do it."

"Oh, great. Thanks for volunteering me to dig." Garth chuckled and took the shovel Dave tossed to him.

Dean wanted to grab the shovel from Garth and do the digging himself but Dave had a point; his shoulder was still sore and weak from being dislocated and digging down several feet wouldn't help it. Instead, he went over to the tree and knelt next to Joe as Manny sat beside him on the other. "How you doin', Joe?"

"Well, pickin' which hand to shake just got a whole lot less complicated," Joe said ruefully and gave a soft chuckle.

Dean smiled, impressed with the man in the face of such a grievous injury. He looked at the bandages wound around the stump of his arm. "Dave does good work."

"Yeah." Joe nodded and let his head drop back. "Hey Manny? No more mambos, dude."

"Deal." Manny said fiercely and settled next to his friend to wait for the other men to open up the tunnel.

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"Go to hell." Sam growled through clenched teeth, trying not to throw up with the sensation of a zombie's fingers shoving into his flesh again. It forced a gasping cry out of him as its fingers scraped along one of his ribs. The mambo had stopped calling his blood for which he was grateful, but she'd simply switched tactics to something more slow and painful. She stood in front of him now, having cut his shirt off him and was painting symbols high on his chest in his own blood.

"When I'm finished, Sam, I'll remove your head." She gave him a feral smile. "You'll still be conscious. Still aware."

"Screw…screw you," Sam groaned, jerking in the grip of the zombies. He took a breath, steeling himself for the pain, and slammed his knee up into the mambo's stomach. He grinned at her startled cry as she crumpled to the floor, wheezing for breath. The zombie yanking its fingers from his chest dragged a scream from him, and then its gory hand wrapped around his throat and dragged his head back and back until he was staring at the ceiling and trying to breathe. He heard the mambo moving, sucking in air and gasping something he couldn't understand. He grunted as his knees were kicked out from under him and he went to the floor hard. The mambo glared rage down at him as she rose.

"That…will cost you." She spit it into his face. "I don't think you fear me enough. I can change that."

Sam watched as she went to her altar, twisting his head in the zombie's grip as he tried to get a full breath past its grasping fingers on his throat. She bent out of his sight for a moment and then came back with a disturbing smile on her face as she held up a small box and rattled it, something heavy inside rolling to thump into its walls, and Sam had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that he knew what was in the box.

"The last man who defied me like you defy me." The mambo reached out with her free hand and took Sam's chin, squeezing her fingers until her nails scraped into his skin. "This will be you soon." She released him and opened the box.

Sam watched her reach in and, as he'd feared, pulled out a head. She held it by the hair and turned it so Sam could see the face. "Oh, God," Sam gasped, misery boiling through him as the coroner's face met his and saw the horror in the face as the man's eyes roll up to meet his, still very much alive and aware. This man had saved his life and given his own to do it, and he didn't even know his name. "I'm sorry," Sam whispered it. "I'm so sorry." He saw tears leak from the coroner's eyes and closed his own.

"Much better." The mambo said softly, a pleased tone in her voice and she ran her fingers over Sam's face through the tear that escaped to run down his temple. "Now I can taste your fear."

"Taste this, bitch."

Dean's voice snarling through the room jerked Sam's head up in shock. He opened his eyes in time to hear a shot and see the mambo jerk in front of him as her eyes went wide and blood mushroomed out from her chest to spatter his face before she fell into him. "Dean?" Sam gasped and saw his brother on the far side of the altar coming out from behind the cloth that hung there. The zombies holding him convulsed, releasing their hold, and he fell to the floor with the mambo's body.

Dean moved, letting Dave, Garth, and Manny run in around him and go for the zombies, both of which lunged at the men wildly with all control gone. Dean ignored them, ducking under a swing and went to his brother, dropping to his knees beside him in a pool of Sam's own blood. "Sammy." Dean pulled him up and rolled him into his chest. "Hey, buddy." The amount of blood covering his brother and on the floor around them scared the crap out of him, but Sam was alert, weakly fisting both hands into his shirt, and it settled the nerves that had been tearing Dean up since he'd woken on the floor with Sam gone. "What the hell were you thinking, dude?" He said angrily now that he had Sam alive and safe again.

Sam met his brother's eyes, raising a brow and smiled wearily when Dean rolled his eyes at him. "That's why."

"Bitch." Dean said gruffly. He understood, though he didn't like it any more then than all the other times Sam had offered himself up to save someone else…and the whole damn world. It was just 'Sam', selfless Sam who thought he had something to make up for even now, though, as far as Dean was concerned, his little brother had paid back anything he owed the world a hundred times over.

"Sam." Manny knelt beside the two men once the remaining zombies were dealt with and put a careful hand on the younger Winchester's shoulder, taking in the blood, the new injuries to his chest and swallowed a lump of guilt. "What can we do?"

Sam looked over to the side and then back. "Get me up."

Dean followed his eyes to a severed head lying against the wall and frowned. The look on Sam's face was one of mourning and pain. "What's goin' on, Sam?" He asked as he and Manny pulled Sam upright and helped him over to the wall where Sam knelt again.

"Give me your knife." Sam steeled himself and reached trembling hands out, gently rolling the coroner's head into his hands and meeting the still horrified eyes. "I wish…if I could have saved you from this, I would have. I'm so sorry." Sam said it softly as the head in his hands cried silently. He looked up at his brother. "It's the coroner."

"Ah, hell." Dean breathed and handed his knife to his brother. "Let me do this, dude."

Sam shook his head. "No. I owe him this much."

Manny leaned back, swallowing the sick feeling in his throat and feeling tears prick his own eyes. Sam cradled the man's head in one hand and slid the blade of the knife up through the neck and into the brain with the other. The mouth fell open, the tears stopped falling and finally the tortured man's eyes went blank with true death. "Who was he?"

"A hero." Sam said it quietly and didn't argue when Dean pulled his hands from the head and the knife and tugged him back with an arm around his shoulders.

"Time to go." Dean looked over at Manny and nodded for his help again.

Dave watched quietly while they got Sam upright again and started toward the tunnel. "I'll clean this up," he said gruffly when Dean turned to look at him. "I'll come check on all the damn wounded when I'm done."

Dean smiled with gratitude. "Thanks, Dave." He tightened his arm around Sam's waist and kept him moving as he slumped between them. "Just get to the car, dude, and then you can pass out."

"Promise?" Sam said, and smiled at Dean's soft huff of a laugh, while part of him wished he could forget the last couple days. Good people had been hurt, died, and worse.

Dean sighed, feeling Sam's breathing hitch under the arm across his back. "Easy, buddy." Adrenaline was draining out of his brother after what he'd endured, and part of that meant cracks in the usual Winchester wall against showing emotion. He slowed as they neared the ladder up.

"You wanna pull him out again?" Manny asked and Dean nodded, leaving him to hold Sam's weight up on his own.

"Always."

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Sam shot awake on a gasp and fought the band across his chest holding him in place.

"Sammy! Take it easy!" Dean tightened his grip around Sam's chest as he struggled. "Dammit. Knock it off and wake up!" Sam had been sleeping more or less peacefully, and Dean had left him to it gratefully until he heard the gasping. Sam had been sucking air in and out as though he were having trouble breathing, and Dean had hastily slid in behind him, pulling him up so he could breathe easier. Awakening on a strangled cry, Sam was still caught in the grip of whatever nightmare he'd been having. "Sam!"

Sam froze, collapsing back into what he now realized was his brother and Dean's arm holding him in place. He heaved for breath and tried to shake the last vestiges of the dream. "Shit…Dean."

"The one and only. Stop squirmin' before you ruin all Dave's hard work," Dean said with relief as Sam relaxed back into him finally. The kid was covered in bandages, some still seeping blood, and an IV line running from his arm to the bag of clear fluid tacked over the bed.

"He alright?" Garth asked, coming around from the couch in concern.

Sam sighed. "I'm fine, Garth, and I can talk for myself, thanks."

"Grouchy, much?" Garth smirked and picked up a thermal mug from the table, bringing it over. "You should be nice to the guy bringin' you coffee."

Sam took the cup, sipped at the still hot and thoroughly sweet vanilla coffee and grinned, letting his head thump back onto his brother's shoulder. "I think I love you, dude."

Garth chuckled. "Dave's idea to help with the blood loss."

Dean snorted and pushed Sam forward, sliding carefully out from behind him and eased him back. "Toss me that pillow." He looked up and caught the one Garth threw, shoving it behind Sam to prop him up.

"I don't actually feel that bad." Sam said, looking slightly surprised.

Dean smirked. "Yeah, well, you will. You're runnin' a fever and Dave said you picked up an infection from playin' zombie finger toy."

"Ok, eww. You have to put it like that?" Sam grimaced and cradled his mug to his chest.

Dean gave him a lop-sided grin and shrugged. "I'm gettin' you food and you're gonna eat it." He raised a brow when Sam opened his mouth to argue and then closed it. "Good boy."

"Dude, I'm not five." Sam rolled his eyes and went back to happily sipping his coffee.

"Naw, when you were five, you did what I told you." Dean chuckled and slapped his leg as he stood. "Make him stay down." He ordered Garth and headed for the door.

Garth pulled a chair over and sat next to the bed. "Manny and Joe are gone. Manny's takin' him up north to a friend who does prosthetics." He smiled. "Figures Joe will have two working hands again in no time."

"That's good." Sam sighed with relief. "If they need anything…"

"They'll call." Garth nodded and finished for him. "They know." He looked around in surprise when the door opened again and Dean came back in with Dave at his back.

"Dave beat me to it." Dean smiled and held up two bags of food. "Old dude's psychic. Yeoch!" He jerked his head forward when Dave slapped the back of his head.

"Watch who yer' callin' old." Dave growled and left him to unpack the food. He went to the beds, nudging Garth out of his chair and sat next to Sam. "M'leavin' soon. Just wanna check you over before I go."

Sam nodded and set his coffee aside as Dave leaned in and started checking under the patchwork of bandages covering his chest and sides. "Dave." Sam shook his head and watched the other man's hands moving quickly and efficiently over his wounds. "Thank you. You saved my life, more than once. I owe…"

"Stop thankin' me already, kid." Dave said gruffly and sat back, for once looking Sam directly in the eyes with a fierce look. "Guy who dives head first into Hell to save the world ain't gotta thank no one for nothin'. Ever. We owe you." He sniffed and tugged irritably at his cap while Sam stared at him in shock. "Thank you, Sam." Dave rolled his eyes at himself after a moment and stood, pulled his cap down and turned away from Sam's quickly filling eyes. "Must be growin' girl parts or somethin' in my old age."

Sam sniffed and blinked furiously, trying but not quite managing to hold back the tears. He didn't say anything, his throat too tight with emotion to make even a sound, so he simply nodded and tried to breathe around the lump of gratitude in his throat. He thought he might have gotten out of it without actually crying, but suddenly Dean was there, and his firm, yet oh-so-gentle grip on his shoulder offering both comfort and support undid him and Sam hung his head as the tears spilled down his cheeks.

Dean nodded to Dave as the older man headed for the door and sat next to his struggling little brother. "You ok?" he asked softly and got a shaky nod in return. Sam had never asked to be thanked for what he'd done, not once, and to hear from another Hunter after so many of their fellows had hated him for so long without understanding…hell, Dean had a lump in his own throat. He slid an arm over his brother's trembling shoulders. "Easy, Sammy."

Sam wiped irritably at his face and leaned back into his brother's arm. "I'm ok. I'm good." He watched Dave leave with Garth behind him and shook his head. "It's just….I…" He trailed off and Dean's arm settled heavier on his shoulders in a silent offer of comfort that choked him up again.

"I know, buddy." Dean said gruffly and leaned in next to him against the headboard. "What do you say after we get you patched up…Vegas?"

Sam broke into a watery laugh and nodded. "How about Atlantic City? Think I've had enough of heat for a while."

Dean grinned and gave Sam's shoulder another squeeze. "Deal."

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_The End. _


End file.
